


Corridors of Power

by blythely



Series: Corridors of Power [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Blaise is Draco's BAMF secretary, British Politics, M/M, Uncle Boris is Minister For Magic, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythely/pseuds/blythely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Being An Originally Intermittent Account<br/>of the Political (Mis)Adventures<br/>of the Viscount Northallerton, Lord Malfoy of Wimbledon;<br/>and the Rt. Honourable Harry J. Potter,<br/>Member of Parliament for North Southwark and Bermondsey (Liberal Democrat).<br/> </p>
  <p>    <i>Annotated, with Footnotes</i><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written in 2004-5, during Blair's last term as Prime Minister of the UK Parliament and Leader of the Labour Party. As such it contains much reference to, and commentary on, political events of that period, but Blaise's footnotes should help.

**ST STEPHEN'S TAVERN**  
Wednesday 28th February, 4:30 pm

"You used magic, didn't you?"

Draco sat back in the booth and regarded the MP for Bermondsey--inasmuch as one could _see_ in St Stephen's for the thick haze of cigar smoke--with amusement. Potter cultivated an air of scruffy liberal righteousness that was made all the more offensive by his blinding good looks. If the man had been pig-ugly and still more rabidly socialist than Lenin, Draco would have slammed the door on him the first time the prat had waved around the draft of his bloody Private Member's Bill 1, and arranged for his secretary to deliver copies of a few incriminating photographs over to whatever rabbit warren Harry occupied in the Commons.

As it was, Harry was terribly attractive, there were no damning pictures to be found, and they pretty much had each other by the balls with the whole closeted wizard business. So Harry was trying to rouse the Commons around an addendum to the House of Lords Act2, and Draco, being the youngest Lord in the House and the very last one to ascend those lofty heights through sheer virtue of birthright, was trying to thwart him.

"It may pain you to realise, Harry, that at the time of my gaining title, I was merely seven weeks old. And as much as I will grant you the tremendous prodigy of my talent--" Draco glanced up at the television screen in the corner, his flow interrupted by the division bell (not the bell for the Lords, thank fucking Christ) "--my powers of speech were pretty much limited to gurgling--"

"--You know that's not what I mean," Potter interrupted.

Draco pointed up. "School Meals and Nutrition Bill3, second reading. How absolutely _riveting_."

Potter glared at him and slugged back the last of his scotch. "We're not finished, Draco."

"Ooh, I sincerely hope not. Will you come back and tell me how the members vote on jam roly-poly?"

 

 

1\. PRIVATE MEMBERS BILL: Proposed legislation dreamt up by delusional backbenchers. Runs very little risk of ever becoming law.  
2\. HOUSE OF LORDS ACT: A horrifying wake-up for hereditary peers, who lost their automatic right to sit in the House of Lords in 1999. Those already ensconced were permitted to remain; further reforms have stalled.  
3\. SCHOOL MEALS & NUTRITION BILL: Draco did not make this up. Rather, Jamie Oliver had something to do with it.

* * *

**RM. 407**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Friday March 2nd, 12:20 pm

 

Potter had been in his office (Draco liked to think of it as his _salon_ , in the French style) for forty minutes and had only just started with the tiresome foaming-at-the-mouth routine. Draco chalked it up to the better blend of Lapsang Souchong down his end of the building, and discreetly flicked his eyes back to his book to give Harry a chance to work up a good froth.

"Because it's exactly people like _you_ who shouldn't be in positions of political responsibility," he was saying, but it did seem to lack any kind of edge. Indeed Harry looked like his own position was rather comfortable, stretched out on the vast leather couch.

Draco considered that. He also considered a pleasant mental picture of liberal debauchery, realised that Harry might have to stand on a couple of volumes of Hansard4 to get just the right angle, and congratulated himself on his ingenuity.

"I assure you, Harry, I try very hard to avoid positions of responsibility. _Especially_ political ones." He turned the page with his little finger.

Harry sat back in a manner that Draco supposed must be disgust. Not disgusted enough to refuse the macaroons, though--peering at the plate, it seemed Harry was on his fifth. Draco made a mental note to look up any adverse interactions of coconut and Veritaserum in preparation for his next visit.

"The other Lords declare their conflicting interests. They fund charities. They patronise museums, they assist under-funded Bills through parliamentary sub-committees. They use their privileges for--"

"Sport." Draco had been waiting for this. "I donated _exorbitant_ sums of money to the refurbishment of Centre Court 5."

"You demanded your own reserved seat!"

"Ah, but I also had a strawberry farm established just down the road. That's terribly public-minded."

Harry snorted and picked up his tea. "Draco. You bulldozed the recreation centre of a council estate."

" _Incredibly_ public-minded. English tennis owes me, Potter. How else do you think Henman 6 met his sticky end?"

There was a flicker of a smile that Harry tried to hide behind his teacup. "That was you?"

Draco winked and swung his legs down from his desk. "Was there a point to today's interrogation, or shall I entertain you with my advance copy of the brilliance that is Piers Morgan's secret diaries7?"

" _How_ did you get that?"

Draco grinned, amused by Harry's completely endearing inability to hide his thirst for gossip. "Mutual interests. Including an abiding hatred of your gimpy Blair--"

"He.Is.Not. _My_ \--"

"Sorry? Oh. I always forget. I shouldn't really," Draco mused, strolling over to the table for one of the biscuits, "given your history with redheads. Gosh, did Kennedy8 have a charisma bypass, do you think?"

"He's a very earnest man who believes strongly in liberal ideals," Harry deadpanned. "Read the bloody book."

 

 

4\. HANSARD: The public parliamentary record, containing a record of all sessions since c. 1771. Contained in large bound volumes, originally of goatskin, only modernising to the radical technology of paper in the 20th century. Now online.  
5\. CENTRE COURT: The main tennis arena at Wimbledon.  
6\. TIM HENMAN: The Englishman who never won Wimbledon, yet did not let this stop him from the embarassment of persistence.  
7\. THE INSIDER: The riveting and juicy recollections of Piers Morgan, enfant terrible, ex-Editor of the Sun and the Mirror.  
8\. CHARLES KENNEDY: (Ex) Leader of the Liberal Democrats. A conversational, good-hearted Scot. Resigned Jan 2006 after revelations he liked a few too many.

* * *

**THE LORDS CHAMBER**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
Monday March 5th, 3:14pm

 

 

 

Draco glanced up in time to catch the Baroness Chalker of Wallasey deposit her stately frame back onto the bench. It really was cruel to make all of these pensioners stand up when they wanted to make a point. The Lords Chamber probably had the highest concentration of hip replacement candidates in the country.

_Suggest amendment to speaking procedures_ , Draco wrote in his notebook, _obtaining eternal gratitude of all 65+_. He murmured the indexing charm and the sentence began to slink off the page to a section he'd thoughtfully labelled _Ingratiation_.

To the casual observer (Draco always sat himself discreetly at the back of the chamber amongst a bevy of greyhairs he privately called the Dozy Earls; casual observers were not so much of an occurrence, snoring was) the Viscount Northallerton sat listening attentively to the debates, chin propped on his palm, occasionally taking a salient note and nodding in agreement with points of discussion.

Glamours were good like that.

Today Draco had done the crossword in the Times, the Telegraph, and the Guardian; annotated the editorials in the Guardian with a series of pro-hunting remarks and saved them for inter-office mail to Potter; continued his project to identify anyone in the House with any magical ability and crossed off two names as definite not-a-chance-in-Hades; and eaten an apple, an egg mayonnaise sandwich, and half a packet of Walker's Pickled Onion Crisps9.

The robes he didn't mind; they were the habit of a lifetime if one would pardon the pun, and he'd long since replaced the abominable Muggle dressmaking with something altogether more dashing. But the wig.

The wig was an atrocity that called for more censure than the war-thingy in Iraq.

_Abolish wigs_ , he wrote hopefully, but his notebook flipped straight to _Hopeless Fancies_ in papery exasperation.

 

 

9\. WALKER'S PICKLED ONION CRISPS: His parents despaired of him, too.

* * *

**RM. 407**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Wednesday March 7th, 4:15 pm

 

"Why did Blaise Zabini just ask me to sign your visitor's register?"

"In light of concerns about parliamentary security and confidentiality, Estates and Services sent a memo--"

"I do work in this building as well, Draco. Let me ask you another way: Why did _Blaise Zabini_ just ask me to sign your visitors register?"

Draco was taking advantage of the south-facing windows by sunning himself on the couch. He cracked open an eye to see Potter looking all ruffled and sanctimonious, his arms crossed around a yellow folder.

"Blaise is my secretary." He closed his eyes again and willed Harry to be sitting up on the desk, maybe leaning back invitingly on his hands, when he looked again.

"Your secretary."

"Mmm." Draco peeked. Bugger. Pedestrian footwear still firmly on the carpet. "Press the blue button on the intercom, if you would."

There was a chiming sound before Blaise's bored drawl broke in. "Yes, Minister?"10

Harry spluttered. Draco smiled.

*  


10\. YES, MINISTER: A bit of a private [joke](http://www.yes-minister.com/).

 


	2. Chapter 2

**THE CENTRAL LOBBY**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
Tuesday March 9th, 5:08 pm  
  
  
Draco loitered--which he supposed wasn't really the done thing for a Peer, but he had both youth and good looks on his side and had determined very early on in his political career that both were to be exploited like small children in Indonesian sweatshops.  
  
He knew about that sort of thing, now. Draco had found himself on the Joint Select Committee for Human Rights1 entirely by ticky-box accident, but he had come to appreciate every second Tuesday for (a) the sheer outrage that Muggles could perpetuate on each other and (b) the fertile source of outrageous remarks that now liberally peppered his conversation.   
  
Currently in favour was  _Yeah, and I once had a farm in Zimbabwe_.  
  
As it was there weren't that many places to sit in the Central Lobby even if he had wanted to, and all the available nooks were full of people urgently whispering about decommissioning in Northern Ireland or the waiting times on the NHS. Privately Draco thought there was a lot to be said for considering the two issues as one, if only so there was more space on the Order of Business to talk about whether Prince Charles' marriage was legal and when they were getting the new aircraft carrier2.  
  
"Woof."  
  
Draco glanced down to see Sadie3, the Home Secretary's guide dog, looking intently at his pocket.  
  
"Minister," Draco said. "Interesting approach to binge drinking the government's taking."  
  
"Lord Malfoy," Blunkett nodded. "I'm surprised you're old enough to partake."  
  
"It's a special dispensation," Draco hunkered down to give Sadie the remainder of his chocolate bar. He was fascinated at how clever the animal was, and how strange it was that she bonded to Blunkett--a man who, while possessed of a gentle wit, was resolutely Not One Of Them--like a familiar.   
  
Draco always had a treat for Sadie. "That's a Yorkie4," he scratched her ears, "not for you, apparently." The dog made a contented growl and headbutted Draco's knee, which would have been fine, except it was at that precise moment that Potter chose to appear and haul him up by the sleeve.  
  
"What was that for?" Draco hissed, brushing off the combined annoyances of dog hair and public manhandling as Sadie and her Muggle took their leave.  
  
Harry regarded him coolly. It was a good look on him, Draco thought. He did a nice line in a piercing gaze. "You're up to something."  
  
Draco glanced around but the combined ecstasies of Sinn Fein and Local Hospital Trusts had the assembled politicians in thrall. No-one was paying any attention to them. He laughed. "You really don't have much on me, do you? Do you really think I was trying to poison his seeing-eye dog?"  
  
"Hexing it. Influencing social policy by delaying the Home Secretary's business." Harry scowled.  
  
"She's not an it. Actually I think she's been stepping out, if you know what I--"  
  
"What are you, the Dog Whisperer?"  
  
The conversation was so ridiculous. Draco was delighted, and not just because Harry thought he looked like--  
  
"And I do not think you look like Robert Redford."  
  
Draco smirked. Judging by the faint blush, he didn't think it was necessary to remind Harry about the incident on the Long Terrace5 with the bottle of gin and that song about raindrops.  
  
Harry shoved a spiral-bound folder in front of him with a print-out of the list of Current Peers. Draco's name was highlighted in angry pink. "What's this?" Harry demanded, jabbing his finger at the column labelled  _Political Affiliation_. 6  
  
"This is the new list, correct?" Draco leaned back against the statue of Disraeli7 and straightened his lapels. He had to resist the urge to do the same to Harry.  
  
"You. Are. A.  _Tory_ , Malfoy."  
  
"Please. Conservative. Tory is so tabloid."  
  
"So what's this rubbish then?" Harry stepped closer, probably to reinforce his Determined Glare, but that only meant that he had to look up at Draco, and Draco didn't mind that at all.  
  
"Cross. Bench." Draco murmured the words deliberately close to Harry's ear. "It has  _such_  a ring to it."  
  
"Oh, Draco." Harry sighed, and for a second Draco's blood spiked at the sultry look Harry gave him. "Not half as much as Allegations of Misconduct."  
  
  
  
  
1\. SELECT COMMITTEE: Just read [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Select_committee), it's what Potter does.  
2\. ITEMS UNDER DEBATE: Yes, those issues were all under debate in one week. Such fast-paced politics was instrumental in justifying Lord Malfoy's need for a secretary.  
3\. SADIE: David Blunkett's (Home Secretary 2001-2004) guide dog. A cute dog and the blind thing could still not save him from scandal and disgrace.  
4\. YORKIE BAR: A British chocolate bar, marketed with the enticing slogan "It's not for girls!"  
5\. LONG TERRACE: Extraordinarily well-situated bar/restaurant on the south side of the Houses of Parliament, riverside on the Thames.   
6\. AFFILIATION: A Peer does not have to affiliate with the major political parties (Labour, Conservative (Tory), or Liberal Democrat) but can choose to be a Crossbench Peer, which is as slutty as it sounds.  
7\. DISRAELI: Benjamin Disraeli, Conservative, first and only Jewish Prime Minister of Britain (1868, 1874-1880). He also wrote romances.  


 

* * *

 

**THE ATHENAEUM CLUB**  
PALL MALL  
Thursday March 11th, 1:12 pm  
  
  
"Listeria  _and_  salmonella."  
  
There was a pause while Draco crunched on an ice-cube that he fished out of the bottom of his Campari. He had been intermittently listening to Blaise's gossip-- mostly a riff on the Prime Minister's rejection by Comic Relief8\--and contemplating an interconnected series of referencing spells that would eliminate the need for the Joint Committee on Consolidation and Bills. Which grand feat would, in turn, win Draco the gratitude and acclaim of his (haha) Peers, and more importantly, free up his Fridays for the foreseeable future.  
  
"Blaise," he glanced down at the table, recoiling a little from the truly disgusting photograph that now sat between them, "--ick, cover that up--now, I know just as much bloody Latin as you do, but what the fuck are you on about, and also, what are those revolting... _things_?"  
  
"Bacteria, Draco," Blaise tapped his exquisitely heavy Mont Blanc on the folder. "Debilitating little organisms that cause gastro-intestinal--"  
  
"Let me stop you right there." Draco held no court with the word intestine, in any way, shape or form. "I want the five minute summary. Did you learn nothing about political communication at your fancy seminar?"  
  
Blaise's smug look went awfully well with his Kilgour9 bespoke suit. Draco congratulated himself on finding a Muggle tailor (expenses claimable) that employed wizard cutters. "I learnt that Peter Mandelson10 likes to b--"  
  
Draco put his hands over his ears and reconsidered his plan to invite Blaise upstairs after they'd finished their (again, expenses claimable) meeting. "La la la. Please." He couldn't quite abide the thought of Blaise, with his cheekbones and extraordinarily refractory period, having willingly consorted with a Blairite so careless he had been forced to resign. Twice.  
  
"Please move along to the part where you tell me what this has to do with Ha--Potter."  
  
Blaise gave him a sharp look, which Draco chose to ignore. "Simon Hughes11\--the previous incumbent, terribly popular in the constituency, chummy with Ginger--developed recurrent and serious poisoning by said bacteria in the weeks running up to the election." Blaise snapped his fingers at the photograph and it wavered into a collection of bright yellow boxes with text. "This is the Lib Dem's website," he said.  
  
"Yellow and black." They shared a snicker. "I wonder if Potter knows he's a closet Hufflepuff." Draco skimmed the small article that Blaise pointed out.  
  
"Curious, isn't it?"  
  
"Hughes might have just been unfortunate." Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of the leather chair, refusing to allow the little bubble of excitement become a full-blown  _frisson_  until he had some very sticky mud to decorate Harry's basement office. "Also, Potter is a terminal do-gooder. He may have sniffed out an heroic cause and read  _Socialism for Dummies_  the night beforehand."  
  
Draco very much appreciated the Dummies books, although he of course transfigured the covers to the key political editions of Everyman's Library luxury cloth-and-gilt volumes.  
  
"Or he may have inelegantly incapacitated his senior with dreadful rotten-meat poisoning." Blaise clicked his fingers again and the picture changed to the previous MP for Southwark and North Bermondsey standing in front of a Hare Krishna Food-For-Life.  
  
Draco frowned, mainly at the people in terribly shapeless orange robes. "Meat?"   
  
"Hughes was a vegetarian." Blaise said triumphantly.  
  
"This is terribly tenuous," Draco suspected that fucking Labour Party members was playing havoc with Blaise's sense of logic. Too close to the locus of power, Draco reasoned. Which fact only added to Harry's appeal, because there was a sparrow's chance in Hades that his party would ever have a majority. He brightened. "It might be useful leverage, though."  
  
Blaise scoffed, unamused. " _Leverage_." He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Draco, you are so fucking predictable."  
  
"Me? Mandelson, Blaise, really. You want an  _obliviate_  with your scotch?"  
  
  
  
8\. COMIC RELIEF: A charity that encourages Muggles to buy artificial red noses and then donates the proceeds to the poor in the UK and Africa. Why people will give money to those less fortunate only when they can be humiliated by some strange accessory remains a topic for study.  
9\. KILGOUR: 8 Savile Row. Ask for Caspar.  
10\. PETER MANDELSON: Draco [exaggerates](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Mandelson). One was merely networking.  
11\. SIMON HUGHES: One of the less vile members of the House of Commons, previous incumbent in the constituency held by Potter. Like Potter, has dreadful taste in ties, was a Lib Dem, had fits of passionate civic enthusiasm, and "plays for both teams".  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**RM. B29.2**  
 **HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (COMMONS)**  
Wednesday March 16th, 12:45 pm  
  
  
  
"Potter, why do you have your--hmmph." Draco turned around to ask Harry exactly why he was displaying his first-class Order of Merlin on the wall of his  _Muggle_  parliamentary office, but was stopped by the exasperated shush-ing motion that Harry made.   
  
Not that Draco was not a patient man. He had been in the basement office for twenty minutes now and Harry had done nothing but take telephone calls.  
  
"Make an appointment," Harry had said, the phone balanced in the crook of his neck while he folded back his shirt cuffs, barely glancing up at Draco when he'd entered the office.  
  
Draco had sat in one of the too-small chairs and balanced his feet on another. " _You_  never do," he'd said cheerfully, to which Harry had had the cheek to insinuate that none was necessary; Draco was unlikely to be caught doing any actual work. He'd been saved the inconvenience of defending himself by the first telephone call, but now Draco was growing increasingly irritated because the cursed thing wouldn't shut up and the damp down here was probably giving him a chill.  
  
Harry put his hand over the mouthpiece and pointed his wand at the framed certificate. "Muggles see this one," he whispered, and it wavered into a similar-looking document, this time proclaiming that the University of Middlesex awarded one Harry James Potter a masters degree in Political Science. "Okay great," Harry said into the phone, "Ready at four? Cheers. Bye."  
  
"Any more desperately important telephone calls, or might I have a minute of your time?"  
  
"Don't sulk. That was my drycleaner." Harry laced his hands together behind his head and leaned back with a grin. "So what's so important that you're slumming it down here with the duly-elected riff-raff?"  
  
"Duly. Elected." Draco had yet to use Blaise's tasty bit of information. First he wanted to prod a bit at Harry's composure. "Is that so?"  
  
Harry frowned, a little flicker. "What?"  
  
"Oh, nothing," Draco said airily. That was enough to let Harry stew for a bit, if it were true. "What I came to find out was if you were one of the tardy seventeen missing from last night's vote."  
  
He already knew the answer. He'd been sat on his couch with a glass of Piper-Heidsieck1 and a lamb vindaloo, watching the commons session and taking notes (technically, watching his dictaquill take notes) as the House debated the Prevention of Terrorism Bill2. It had been fairly entertaining until he became convinced that the bloody Lib Dem MP for Tweeddale3 was aggressively flirting with Harry. Surely there was nothing so politically riveting in the briefing papers that required them to sit quite so close together?  
  
"Of course I was there." Harry sounded snippy. "Besides, 46 Tory members skipped out on the vote as well, you know."  
  
"Yes, but no-one  _expects_  a Conservative to be at every vote, do they? You, on the other hand," and here Draco took in the framed party promises on the office wall, ran his finger down the glass to number seven, "Work Hard To Represent Constituents Voices. You know that bloody bill got through by only fifteen votes?"  
  
"Malfoy," Harry sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "My colleagues are not perfect. But at least they are not prejudiced, old-fashioned, small-minded wankers who had to be bullied into recognising that their privileges were anachronistic and blatantly unfair--"  
  
"Where did you learn a word like anachronistic?"  
  
"You."  
  
Draco peered suspiciously at Harry.  
  
"You gave me a thesaurus for Christmas." Harry turned his attention to a pile of letters and thumbed open an envelope. "Don't worry," he grinned, "I'm only up to the C's."  
  
"Did you reach  _considerate_  yet?" Draco grouched.  
  
A pause, and Harry raised his eyebrows. "Oh, do tell me why, Draco."  
  
"If your  _colleagues_ \--okay, and the 46 Conservative members whom I sure had dreadfully urgent family affairs that called them away at the last moment--if they had been at that circus last night, and had voted the bill back, it wouldn't have to go to the Lords."  
  
"You're pissy because you'll have to debate the Bill?"  
  
"I am so bored with terrorism. It's so 2002."  
  
Harry threw a paperclip at him. "You're deplorable."  
  
"Will tell me how deplorable I am over lunch?"  
  
"Will you take me somewhere appallingly expensive and make the taxpayers fork out for it?"  
  
Draco shrugged. "I'm a Malfoy."  
  
"Chuck me my jacket, then."  
  
  
  
1\. PIPER HEIDSECK: This stuff just turns up by the case in the office. It's quaffable, for a Muggle champagne.  
2\. PREVENTION OF TERRORISM BILL: A nasty bit of freedom-curtailing legislature under debate in March 2005 that gave the Home Secretary the ability to, amongst other things, impose a control order on people suspected of terrorism, whatever that meant. Due to the restraining action of the Lords on passing the Bill it was watered down a little in practise, but we're getting ahead of ourselves.  
3\. MP FOR TWEEDDALE: You can't trust a [Scotsman](http://byblythe.livejournal.com/:http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/shared/mpdb/html/669.stm%22).  


* * *

 

**SKETCH**  
CONDUIT ST, WC1  
2:08 pm  
  
  
  
"--there's exorbitant, and then there's just. Well. Is this supposed to be modern art, this menu? Some kind of comment on capitalism?"  
  
The waiter snickered. So did Draco. After a brief pause, so did Harry.  
  
"The  _forty-one pound_  Loch Fyne scallops, please." The way Harry got the -ch to catch perfectly in his throat made Draco go a bit weak.  
  
"And how would sir prefer them?" The waiter had more attitude than Blaise, which Draco admired in someone who got ordered around for a living.  
  
Harry, holding his wine glass by the stem, looked impishly at Draco. "Hmm," he said, his gaze not flickering from Draco's face, "I think. Poached."  
  
"Tartare," Draco said, knocking back the Gevrey Pinot in an attempt to quash the vague feeling he was being played.  
  
The waiter sauntered off. "Draco," Harry said, thoughtful creases behind his glasses, "what do you say when people ask where you went to school?"  
  
"Depends," Draco was cagey. "Why? What do you say?"  
  
"Tutored at home," Harry said over a mouthful of Ethiopian flatbread. Draco pushed the ramekin of hazelnut oil across the table in order to facilitate more licking of fingers. "But I asked you."  
  
Ah. Not a trick question, then. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, most of the time."  
  
Harry blinked. "You do not."  
  
Draco leaned forward and grinned. "I do. And then the old duffers clap me on the back and tell me that they used to call Harrow 'The Seventh Level Of Hell', and everyone thinks I'm terribly clever."  
  
"I haven't started on your deplorability yet, have I?"  
  
"I strongly suspect there's no such word as deplorability, Potter."  
  
"If anyone is ever to describe your political career it may be very necessary to invent it."   
  
 _No need to be nasty_ , Draco was going to say, but then Harry licked a rivulet of oil off the back of his thumb and he couldn't quite muster the edge, especially when Harry raised his eyebrows in the kind of slow smirk that said  _I know exactly what you are thinking and also? You are so my bitch._  
  
"I don't notice you trying very hard to discourage my alleged bad behaviour," Draco said, rather intent on regaining some sort of upper hand. "Aside from your ridiculous petition, of course, but whatever happened to the liberal humanist belief in redemption?"  
  
"You? Redeemed?" Harry flicked off a crumb from Draco's cuff. "What would be the fun in that?"  
  
  



	4. On A Balance of Possibilities

 

**Monday 14th March**  
  
  
An exchange of emails:  
  
  
 **Subject: yesterdays discussion  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 14:07  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
I am too hungover to remember what you told me about this bloody house-arrest bill,   
or was that the point of the exercise? Session starts at half-past, I expect a five-point summary   
of salient arguments before then as punishment for leaving the pub so early.1  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: yesterdays discussion  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 14:10  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
half-eleven when we got started at two is hardly piking out and having an early night, you twit.  
besides, some of us don't keep a flat in soho. if you want the idiot guide to the bill look at the   
Guardian website, it's what I do when I can't be arsed reading the briefings.  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: yesterdays discussion  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 14:12  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
You were more than welcome to stay.  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: yesterdays discussion  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 14:19  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
your anti-europe sentiments terrified me slightly.  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: yesterdays discussion  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 14:20  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
British Muggles are bad enough. You really want to get friendly with French ones?   
Worse,  _Swiss?_  
Division bell, off to die of boredom.  
  
  
  
 **Subject: human rights  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 17:43  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
wtf? how come you never told me you were on the bloody human rights select committee!   
why were you asking me about the PoT bill when you probably could recite the damn thing in your sleep?  
  
  
  
 **Subject: human rights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 17:44  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
the human rights committee! a malfoy! there is something so. fundamentally. wrong. with this picture.  
  
you're up to something, aren't you?  
  
  
  
 **Subject: it's kind of endearing, really  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 18:03  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
you're not up to something. you're just embarrassed.   
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: it's kind of endearing, really  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 7 March 2005 19:22  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
Fuck off. It was a clerical error.2  
  
  
  
1\. Once Draco learnt that the BBC also had an [idiot's guide to everything](http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/4288407.stm), the tantrums ceased a little.  
2\. This is actually true.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**Considering the Burden of Proof** **  
  
LORDS CHAMBER  
Tuesday March 15th, 11:46 am**  
  
  
Draco sat back down in his seat for the  _fourth_  time, frowning irritably at the unusually cramped benches. Why they had to get up and walk all the way across the chamber, out the appropriate door (Content or Not-Content, what a ridiculous response to a political question!) and mingle in the Lobby until heads were counted was all a bit beyond him. What was wrong with a show of hands? Or even better, a little buzzer like on University Challenge?3  
  
That was more like it. Jeremy Paxman as Lord Chancellor, point-scoring on obscure details of legislation, and the party with the highest score at the end of the half-hour got to pass a law.  
  
Sigh, thought Draco.  
  
The Lords was packed, buzzing. Yesterday's session had been the same; there was an atmosphere that Draco found intriguing in its resemblance to gathering magic, the concentrated intake of breath before transfiguration. No wonder the muggle politicians got addicted to this place.  
  
And, he snickered quietly, watching the Baroness Wilcox leave her hand on the Earl of Shrewsbury's shoulder for  _far_  longer than necessary, no wonder half of them got caught with their pants down at some point.   
  
Magic, charisma, power. All the same thing.  
  
*  
  
Coming from a world where the fabric of reality could be a little more wobbly than Muggles were used to, Draco thought that a time limit on controversial new legislation was an eminently sensible idea. Nearly all Wizengamot rulings had some sort of early expiration clause, which was why the Wizarding statute books took up vast rooms in the basement of the Ministry while only a tiny fraction of the laws were actually in use.   
  
"The bill needs a time limit," he had said at the last review committee meeting, trying to think of what the proper (Muggle) term was and wondering if he'd breach the WSA4 by referring to it as the  _interdictor_. But then he remembered he was in a room full of over-educated Oxbridge graduates and decided he'd just look erudite.  
  
Lord Campbell of Alloway, Vice-Chairman of the Committee, and so articulate it made Draco's jaw ache with jealousy, had nodded at Draco and said approvingly, "Sunset clause, I think you mean?"  
  
And there it was: the primary amendment to the Prevention of Terrorism Bill, and the Lords backed it 297 to 110.  
  
Draco watched the glad-handling and back-slapping in the Lobby after the House divided and felt rather entitled to be smug. Especially when Campbell met his gaze over a gaggle of sombre suits and tipped his head in acknowledgement.   
  
  
  
3\. UNIVERSITY CHALLENGE: Jeremy Paxman's enjoyable public humiliation of supposedly clever University students who would never, ever get on television otherwise.  
4\. WSA: Wizarding Security Act. A list of things one is not supposed to mention in front of Muggles. Amendments to the WSA appear in the Prophet every Wednesday. No-one takes the slightest bit of notice as, in general, the half-life of something being on the list is about two weeks. Besides, Muggles simultaneously believe anything that is told to them and are the least curious creatures on the planet.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Rm 407  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
10:41 pm**  
  
  
A phone call.  
  
"Harry Potter."  
  
"And it's back to you, the Right Honourable. Don't fuck it up this time."  
  
"Wha--I'm not responsible for the entire bloody Commons, you know."  
  
Pause.  
  
"You could be."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous--"  
  
"No, what's ridiculous is the perceived urgency on this. It's an important piece of legislation. Blair thinks it's an election campaign. So does Howard."  
  
"What were the amendments?"  
  
"Burden of proof needs to be apparent. Only judges can make the control orders, not politicians. And... an expiry clause."  
  
"When?"  
  
"November."  
  
"Tch. What's the point in that, then? Sends the wrong kind of message, doesn't it? I mean, I think deep down even Kennedy sees the need for this bill--"  
  
"Do  _you?_ "  
  
Pause.  
  
"I think there are threats to the British--"  
  
"Good grief, Harry, I thought your lot were against the curtailing of civil liberties?"  
  
"For the majority, yes. But what's that saying? Freedom for the pike means--"   
  
"--death for the minnow, yes, someone trotted that old crust out today."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Wait. Shouldn't you be supporting this kind of thing? Lock up the criminals, less talk, more action, that kind of thing?"  
  
A deep breath.  
  
"The Bill will get through. The amendments are damage limitation.  _Important_  damage limitation."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And, you duly-elected moron--"  
  
"You say that like it's a dirty word."  
  
Soft laugh.  
  
"I'm not asking which one."  
  
"Piss off. What's your point?"  
  
"If I were you I'd use my powers for good in the debating chamber."  
  
"There are 659 Members of Parliament, Draco, what do you want me to do? Repelling charm on the Noes* door? Generalised  _Imperius_?"  
  
"I'm not seeing the difficulty here. Didn't you magically eviscerate an incorporeal Dark Lord at some point?"  
  
Pause.  
  
"I'm going home now."  
  
Sigh.  
  
"This conversation is not over, you know--"  
  
"I am  _not_  influencing the debate tomorrow--"  
  
"Ah." Softly. "Of course.  _You_  never had to live under suspicion or restriction, did you? Register your wand, have owls monitored... did you  _read_  the list of proposed restrictions?"  
  
"Draco--"  
  
"Good night, Harry."  
  


* * *

  
  
**Are Doomed To Repeat It** **  
  
Rm 407  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Wednesday March 16th, 5:13pm**  
  
  
"Lord Malfoy, you appear to be fascinated by this tedium."  
  
Draco waved Blaise away from in front of the television. "See him? He's been asked  _sixteen_  times by other MPs to give way, and he hasn't. Righteous little prick."  
  
"Home Secretary?"  
  
"Clarke5, yes. Blunkett may have been blind but at least he wasn't a sanctimonious arsehole." Actually Draco rather missed the disgraced Home Secretary's occasional acerbic comments; life on the middle benches was quieter for Sadie, as well.  
  
Blaise sat in the armchair, chin thoughtfully propped on his hand.   
  
"What?" Draco said distractedly. On the television Clarke was holding forth:  
  
 _"...the point that the right honourable gentleman has not fully grasped is that the control order that we propose will be a preventive device. To prevent an individual from offering a terrorist threat to the country, in various ways."_  
  
Blaise turned his head sideways to the screen and blinked rapidly. "Did he just say what I thought he just said?"  
  
So he wasn't the only one. Draco nodded, a regretful sort of agreement.  
  
"Santanyana," Blaise murmured, biting his lip.6  
  
Draco jumped up and planted a smacky kiss on Blaise's forehead. "Precisely. Thank you."   
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"To see the Minister for Magic."  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"Hmm?" Draco stopped in the doorway.  
  
"Please temper your enthusiasm. You were, I recall, a Slytherin. Zealotry is for Cypriots and Gryffindors."7  
  
He frowned. "I was under that impression, also." He peered at the television. Clarke was still on his feet. The camera panned around the chamber, full rotation.   
  
Harry was wearing a rather nice blue tie.  
  
"Say hello to your uncle Boris, Draco."  
  
  
  
5\. CHARLES CLARKE: Home Secretary 2005-2006, until it was discovered that the Home Office was responsible for letting about a thousand foreign prisoners out of jail and (a) not kicking them out of the country (b) continuing to do so after the problem was made public. Exit Charles Clarke to the backbench. Also has tremendous elephant ears.  
6\. SANTAYANA: Really, how impoverished is the [education system](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Santayana)?  
7\. CYPRIOTS: Especially the  _other_  side of the island.  



	5. You Must Produce The Evidence

**OFFICE OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (UNPLOTTABLE)  
Wednesday March 16th, 4:32 pm  
**  
  
"Habeas corpus, my boy." Boris Johnson stabbed at a few letters on his computer keyboard, and turned to beckon Draco to take a chair.  
  
Draco took a moment to register that the Minister For Magic was talking about the muggle legal term and not demanding that Draco produce a dead body. He snorted. "I think the general gist is that toenail clippings are all that's required."  
  
"Secret, non-disclosed toenail clippings, eh?"  
  
Draco straightened up. "Minister, something must be done." He drummed his fingers on the chair arm, surprised at his own impatience.   
  
"I completely agree. So, do you have any suggestions that won't lead to either of us losing our jobs or being demagistered for dangerous disclosure?" Boris sighed, tight and not a little bitter, and flicked his floppy fringe to one side. "Because I don't."  
  
"If I could get into the Commons chamber--"  
  
"Be sensible, boy, the only wands registered for that place are mine and Potter's."   
  
Draco pushed up out of the chair. "Then you could--"  
  
Boris threw a copy of  _The Spectator_  at Draco's head1. "No, I could not. Here. Saves me putting it in the mail."  
  
"What's your column about tomorrow?" Draco caught the magazine and rolled it up into a tight tube, smacking it in his palm a few times while he wandered around the office.  
  
"Nominally, the IRA. But more about this issue of internment and how it never works."  
  
Draco couldn't help his sharp laugh. "Well, yes. Don't I know that."   
  
*  
  
 **5:41 pm**  
  
The tellers for the ayes and noes2 had just delivered their numbers to the Speaker--Draco had ensconced himself on the armchair under the window and transfigured the television screen much larger--when Boris came back into the office.  
  
"How the fuck did you get here so quickly?"  
  
Boris strode over to a bookshelf and pulled out a large hardback. "Apparition. One of the few privileges of Commons over Lords."  
  
Draco frowned into his near-empty scotch. "You mean you can sit here in relative peace and just turn up for votes?"  
  
"Brilliant, isn't it?" Boris handed him the book, and Draco proceeded to splutter the remaining mouthful of Laphroaig3 over the cover.  
  
"How did I not know about this?"  
  
There was a wry tilt to Boris's grin. "There are only three copies in existence. One in the King's Collection in the British Library, one at the Ministry proper, and this. And I'm under very strict instructions to ensure it does not end up in the offices of either the Member for Bermondsey or the Viscount Northallerton--" He gestured with the scotch bottle, "--their rules, not mine, and please don't splash your drink over my armchair, Draco--"  
  
"Whose rules?"  
  
"Both. Apparently there was enough of a to-do about  _two_  of you being involved in parliamentary process, without having you squabble over using the magic in the building."  
  
"Has Potter seen this?"  
  
"You  _are_  my nephew."4  
  
Draco beamed. "How's the other portfolio, then?" It fascinated him that the Muggles had a minister for arts and culture, although he had quickly been disabused of his notion that the department's job was to regulate the number of stanzas in poetry. It was all about quotas for Welsh cinema and lottery funding for preserved sharks in tanks5.  
  
"Lots of gala invites, which is good, but then lots of gala invites, if you know what I mean." Boris picked up a small key on the coffee-table. "Why is this here?"  
  
"Um," said Draco. "I used your passcodes for the Statute Record Office and they sent the papers I wanted to your Purple Box6."  
  
Boris rolled his eyes. "You want  _me_  to open my Ministerial box to get  _your_  sneakily obtained documents?"  
  
"They're not  _secret_."  
  
"No, but the Ministry would very much like them to remain... obscure."  
  
Draco stood. "The consequences of those restrictions are hardly obscure to those who suffered under them,  _Minister_."  
  
"Don't act like a pariah, Draco, it's terribly boring. I know you can't help but take this personally--"  
  
It was true. It was all a bit undignified, and the legislation was going to be passed no matter what happened, but he couldn't help. Well. There had to be something to thwart.  
  
Boris handed Draco the parchments from the purple box, shutting it again with a locking charm. "I'm sure he's seen these," he said softly. "And I deny any and all of this conversation, including the temporary misplacing of that book by the cleaner--bollocks, another bloody bell." He glanced up at the screen, which was flashing red. "How many amendments did you lot suggest?"  
  
"Twenty-two," Draco said, shrinking papers, book, magazine and bottle to handkerchief size and stuffing them in his pockets, "and your cleaner also took the Laphroaig."   
  
  
1\. THE SPECTATOR: Weekly political magazine of which Boris Johnson is the editor.  
2\. VOTING: It's all [excrutiatingly quaint](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Division_\(vote\)). Draco's suggestion for buzzers does actually seem quite sensible.  
3\. LAPHROAIG: (la-froyg) Really strong single malt. Insane stuff.  
4\. NEPHEW: To be exact, the Minister is Draco's third cousin at one remove, but as the Viscount has precious few relatives that aren't dead or insane, we allow him the indulgence.  
5\. BRIT ART: [It boggles the mind](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damien_Hirst).  
6\. PURPLE BOX: Muggle Ministers have Red Boxes for important documents. The Minister For Magic is a little flamboyant.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Thursday's Child Has Far To Go** **  
  
Rm B29.2  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (COMMONS)  
Thursday March 17th, 9:45 am**  
  
  
Elegant hands. Exquisitely tailored suit. Blond hair that needed no encouragement from highlights. A perfectly polite sneer.  
  
Harry's PA shook Draco's hand with the kind of bored dismissal that Draco felt certain he had royalties on. "Mr Potter should be here in just a moment," she said, smoothing her skirt underneath her as she sat down. "You're more than welcome to wait."  
  
Draco was fairly confident that he was, in fact, as queer as a Conservative could possibly be, but that didn't stop his eyes from fixating on the splendid line of Cate's ("with a C," she'd said, eyes narrowed as if  _daring_  him to ask) never-ending legs.  
  
Women. It was always the legs.  
  
*  
  
"What an interesting choice of new personnel." Draco set his briefcase lightly on Harry's desk and clicked it open.  
  
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," Harry muttered, yanking open file drawers and trying to put his tie on at the same time. His greeting had been something along the lines of  _bloodyJubileeLinefuckers and brokenshowersatgym and whyareyouhere?_. "Ah! There it is," he pulled out a folder and dropped it on the desk. "I'm going to be late, Malfoy, what do you want? And what's wrong with Cate?"  
  
"She's  _very_  blonde."  
  
Harry glared at him. Draco grinned, leaned back against the desk edge.  
  
"And tall."  
  
More glaring. Draco took the book and papers he wanted out of his briefcase, and when he looked up Harry was still looking daggers at him.  
  
"Nice tits?"  
  
Harry's eyes widened impossibly, horrified. The door slammed. Ngh, no wand.  
  
Draco felt the prickle of something euphoric on his scalp. "Well?"   
  
"I. Wouldn't. Know." Harry said slowly, mouth curving into a guilty quirk.   
  
"I'm sure she's an awfully smart and efficient assistant," Draco continued, convinced there were faint spots of colour on Harry's cheeks, especially when Harry ducked his head to fish in the top drawer of his desk. Draco took advantage of his distraction to slip the parchments inside the manilla folder.  
  
"Actually, Malfoy, " Harry placed a pair of cufflinks on the folder, and unexpectedly invaded Draco's personal space, "she's an arrogant posh bird with an agenda, but she's rather--what's that?"  
  
"Rather what?"  
  
" _Westminster, A Magical History_?" Harry's voice went up high at the end of the sentence.  
  
Draco held the book behind his back, just out of Harry's reach. He pocketed the cufflinks, too. "Rather what?"  
  
"That book, I thought there weren't any copies--"  
  
"Rather  _what_?"  
  
Harry sighed. "Entertaining."  
  
Draco frowned.  
  
"Also frustrating."  
  
That was more like it. "You obviously don't want to know how insanely riddled with magic this place is, do you?" Harry, shorter and smaller, was dangerously close to shoving him back on the desk. Draco felt this to be a win-win situation, even when Harry stopped grabbing for the book and stepped back.  
  
Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair, transferring the balance of messiness from right to left. "Um, I'm late. What's this all about?"  
  
"It's a show of good faith." Draco reached for Harry's wrist and dug in his pocket for the cufflinks. They were silver, chunky cast owls. Draco had to smile.   
  
"I can do that myself," Harry muttered, but he didn't pull his hand away, just watched Draco's fingers.  
  
"What, show faith?" Draco folded Harry's cuff neatly together and threaded the spring-arm through the button hole, taking his time. "Other one, please."  
  
Draco had no comparison, but with his thumb over Harry's pulse he could swear it was racing. Draco fastened the other cufflink, rather aware of his own breathing.  
  
"If you tell me you're expecting me to do the right thing I will smack you into next week," Harry said pleasantly, but his intake of breath was harsh when Draco tightened his grip and said, equally pleasant:  
  
"I have no expectations of you, Potter. You should be pleased about that."  
  
*  
  
 **Subject: back again  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 10 March 2005 23:42  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
you do like to make your point, don't you? do you have any idea how full the debating   
chamber was today? bloody lucky those parchments didn't fall out onto the floor, would've   
been fun trying to explain exactly what the wizengamot decree and emergency Auror Powers   
were to the member for Guildford.  
  
NOT TO MENTION WHY THE REGULATIONS WERE ON **PARCHMENT**  
  
  
 **Subject: Out-of-Office Autoreply  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 10 March 2005 23:43  
To: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
This is an automated reply. The person you have contacted is unavailable at this time. Your message:  
Re: back again  
Date: 10 March 2005 23:42  
  
has been received and will be read in due course.   
Any subsequent emails will be queued. You will not receive this message again.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**No Rest For The Wicked**  
  
 **Subject: (no subject)  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 11 March 2005 01:09  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
this book is fucking brilliant. it's making me think i probably missed out on all this   
great stuff when hermione went on about hogwarts a history.   
i'm never taking the east palace lift ever again.  
  
btw if you approve it and want breakfast catering services have said they'll do an   
allnighter on the terrace bars.  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: back again  
From:The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 11 March 2005 01:55  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
They can't be photocopied, you idiot, they're Ministry documents.   
  
I take it--from your refusal to address the issue--that the parallels I so painstakingly   
drew for you became somewhat more apparent? I'm watching the debate right now,   
and you're yawning. Surely everyone is too tired to keep up with this rubbish.   
I shall come down to the Strangers Gallery to watch Blair and Clarke approve our   
amendments with red faces.  
  
Tomorrow (today?) we were supposed to be debating "Care of Cathedrals" in the   
afternoon session. I suppose I can thank your Honourable friends for delaying that   
particular form of torture, at least.  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: (no subject)  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 11 March 2005 02:03  
To: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
>>this great stuff when hermione went on about hogwarts a history  
  
If you ever compare me to Granger again I'll give your home address to Rupert Murdoch.   
  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  
**STRANGERS GALLERY  
COMMONS DEBATING CHAMBER  
2:21 am**  
  
There were four other Lords in the Strangers Gallery7 when Draco sidled in and took a seat at the back. The view wasn't terrific but the seats were comfortable, and sometime in the past couple of years Draco had developed a learned response to the sounds of political debating:  
  
Sleep.  
  
*  
  
 **3:06 am  
**  
  
"Draco?"  
  
He woke up with a start. Harry was crouched down in front of him, dark circles under his eyes.  
  
"Done?"  
  
"Nah, just a recess. We're going to keep going to get this through by the weekend. Bit bloody sick of the noes door."  
  
Draco blinked and rubbed at his eyes. "How did you know I was here?"  
  
"Email on PDA, bloody marvellous." Harry sat in the seat next to him and leaned back, closing his eyes.  
  
Draco looked across at him, thought about the sulky, histrionic  _annoyance_  that plagued his school years, and shook his head. They sat in silence until the bell rang again.  
  
"You should go home--"  
  
"I'll wait," Draco said shortly, and tried very hard not to deliver a speech about unfair terrorist associations and living under suspicion, because there was preaching to the choir and then there was trying to get the choir to break some pretty fuckoff laws on the off-chance of new songbooks. "The expiry clause is the thing," he said instead.  
  
"Hmm," Harry sounded thoughtful. He stood, watched the MPs filing back in to the chamber for a minute, and chewed his lip.  
  
He looked about seventeen again. It was all very disconcerting, because Draco associated that face with a certain kind of saving-the-world attitude.  
  
  
*  
  
 **Subject: (no subject)  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 11 March 2005 11:22  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
I think the term I'm looking for is Eleventh Hour.  
  
Come on.  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: (no subject)  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 11 March 2005 15:03  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
Oh ye of little.  
  
  
*  
  
 **PRESS OFFICE (BBC News)  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
5:38 pm**  
  
  
 _"...and this time an olive branch has been waved by the government when Tony Blair announced he will give MPs the chance to review the law in a year's time. He denies an accusation from Tory leader Michael Howard that this represents a "sunset clause in all but name". The move is aimed at ending the deadlock between the two Houses. After more than 30 hours of debate already, the bill will return to the Lords this evening to be approved."_  
  
  
*  
  
 **Rm 407  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
7:15 pm**  
  
  
Back on the couch. Harry's shoes were marginally better.  
  
"We're going out."  
  
"I am too bloody tired to move from this spot," Draco said. "You should be too."  
  
"Sod that," chirped Harry, and Draco felt a warm crackle invigorate his muscles.  
  
"It really betrays a complete lack of social graces to go using charms on someone without asking their permission," Draco grumbled.  
  
"You're the one who always says I don't think like a wizard." Harry almost looked like he was pouting. It was unbearably attractive.  
  
Draco snickered. "No, I always say you don't think. End of story." His coat--Aquascutum, a concession to fashion--landed on his head with a thwump. "All  _right_. Where are we going?"  
  
Harry fished in his coat pocket for a card. "Kennington," he read, "Sarf London Pacific."8 The card tumbled through the air to land on Draco's lap.  
  
"A. Tiki. Bar." Draco looked around the room, just in case this was a joke for an audience, then back at Harry.   
  
Grinning a bit too manically for Draco's peace of mind, Harry said, "They have  _wicked_  cocktails."  
  
Of course. It would make some kind of bizarre sense that Potter was a umbrella-and-pineapple-slices fetishist. Draco narrowed his eyes. "In case it escaped your notice, I'm a Viscount. And you're a duly-elected. And this place has hula dancers."  
  
"Up," Harry commanded, "and out, and quit whining." He gave Draco a little shove through the door, kicking it shut behind them.  
  
The lift button was annoyingly stuck. Draco thumped it a few times until it shook loose and the light flickered on. Something occurred to him. "Either the thought of grass skirts and mai-tais really distracts you, or you're slipping in your crusade."  
  
"I'm sorry?" Harry blinked at him as they got into the lift.  
  
Heh. "Oh, nothing. Wicked cocktails, you--"  
  
"It's temporarily a low priority." Harry cocked his head, raised his eyebrows. "Not forgotten."  
  
"Ah, Harry," smirked Draco, "whatever you say."  
  
"Fuck off." The pout again.  
  
Draco laughed, and the lift doors opened.  
  
*  
  
  
7\. STRANGERS GALLERY: "Strangers", in [parliamentary parlance](http://www.parliament.uk/glossary/glossary.cfm?ref=strange_5288), refers to all those who are not familiar to Parliament, i.e., members of the public who are not Peers, MPs, or staff.  
8\. SOUTH LONDON PACIFIC: Once he had a few [Singapore Slings](http://www.southlondonpacific.com/), Draco forgot about the raffia lampshades and demonstrated he knew all the words to Bali Hai.   
  



	6. Chapter 6

**REFRESHMENT SERVICES AND GIFT SHOP**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Wednesday March 30th, 6:19 pm  
  
  
Draco surveyed the overwhelming amounts of tat laid out before him. Etched glasses, faux-leather embossed notebooks, matchbooks, scarves, fake-tortoiseshell pens. The only remotely attractive items were the cufflinks, and even then there was something tacky about them.  
  
"Good god," Harry's voice came from behind him, "this place is tiny."   
  
It was. So small, in fact, that the House of Lords Gift Shop was the most profitable retail premises in the entire country, per square foot of real estate1. All seven square feet, Draco supposed.  
  
"That would be because, unlike the  _other place_ , we try not to let the tourists in to roam around and cause havoc." Draco turned around from the glass case and made a disapproving face. "Or buy tatty key-rings and postcards. No need to spend taxpayers money on a swanky gift shop."  
  
Harry shook his head, his mouth twitching up. "Oh, I do love it when you pretend to get righteous about taxpayers money."  
  
Draco frowned. "That wasn't convincing?"  
  
"A little too pat."  
  
"I thought pat was--"  
  
"You have to be Labour to do pat."  
  
"Heaven help us."  
  
"Too bloody right."  
  
Draco cleared his throat and tipped his head down the empty hallway. "It's the door that's not a door--where's the book?"  
  
Harry reached into his jacket's inside pocket and pulled out a rather battered paper crane, balanced it on the back of his hand and murmured a few words. The wings on the bird quirked and then flapped, fluttering faster until they blurred together. Resolved, the paper crane was  _Westminster: A Magical History_ , miniaturised to palm-size.  
  
"I like that spell," Harry said, glasses skidding down his nose as he flipped through the book to the map section. He looked up. "I can't even do the origami."  
  
Draco ran through any number of comments regarding bending and folding.  
  
"Cheers," he said, instead, because after the debacle with the Mirror's 3 AM girls2, one tended to censor the things one said in public. "After you, then."  
  
  
1\. REAL ESTATE: This is true. The shop is  _tiny_.  
2\. 3AM GIRLS: The [Mirror](http://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/)'s "gossip" "columnists".   
  


* * *

  
  
**SOMEWHERE VERY UNPLOTTABLE**  
PRESUMABLY UNDERNEATH THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
Wednesday, Also Presumably  
  
  
Draco's watch was running backwards.   
  
Harry's simply wasn't working, but Draco thought that was because it was a cheap Korean Patek knock-off with a muggle mechanism, rather than the precisely engineered piece of thaumhorologic3 craftsmanship (made in Geneva in 1899 for Draco's maternal great-grandfather) that Draco wore.  
  
The air down here--down here being somewhere no longer featuring on the maps in the book, much to Draco's horror and Harry's delight ("ooh, catacombs!")--felt condensed and tight, and that was without the pockets of prickly magic that assaulted them on occasion. That Harry's hair could actually find more directions to stick out in was entertaining enough; the discovery that wallowing through exogenous magic gave Draco the ability to static-shock Harry was bloody brilliant.  
  
They'd come to a stop at the top of a flight of very narrow stone steps. Draco nearly overbalanced and put out his hand to the wall to stop an embarrassing fall.  
  
Harry snickered.  
  
Draco scowled and poked his finger between Harry's eyes. There was a satisfying snap of static.  
  
"Would you STOP THAT?"   
  
Grinning, Draco put his palm flat on Harry's cheek.   
  
He would've sworn under oath there was a tiny green spark, but before he had a chance to do it again, Harry had yanked at his wrist.  
  
"You kinky wanker, stop giving me shocks--"  
  
"Mind. The. Watch."  
  
Which was how he discovered it was running backwards. Not exactly Dark Magic of the sort one had nightmares about, but still. It was enough to give Draco pause. He looked at it closely. The Copernican orrery seemed to suggest all the planets were in perfect alignment; the calendar indicated that it was some time in the early nineteen seventies (Draco shuddered); and the discreet little scale pegged Potter as a Pureblood.4  
  
"I think we should leave," Draco said.  
  
Harry simply waved the book in the air and disappeared down the steps.  
  
*  
  
"Heights? You flew a broom."  
  
"Yes, well,  _me flying_  is the operative clause there. Not me shuffling along a precarious ledge of stonework, barely able to see through the--" Draco flicked his hand out at the ghostly haze of political documents floating before them, "--ick, congealed  _goo_  of parliamentary collective unconscious--"  
  
Harry reached out and a torturous sentence in seventeenth-century typeface floated onto his hand. Draco peered, making out  _conjuration and sorcery_  and  _pilniewinks_  before the words lost their form again and drifted away. Harry raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Witchcraft Act of 1604," Draco supplied, shivering a bit.5  
  
"I was just wondering if the Section 286 drafts are going to whip by next," Harry said, plucking at the air and sifting through sentences.   
  
"It's coincidence. Might we keep going, please?"  
  
Harry batted him an insubstantial page of Hansard with an insufferable tilt of his head. "See," he said, turning to scoot along the ledge again, "this place likes you."  
  
 _...1999, House of Lords Reform Bill, Division 12... End membership of the House of Lords by virtue of a hereditary peerage; to make related provision about disqualifications for voting at elections to, and for membership of, the House of Commons..._ 7  
  
"Piss off, Potter."  
  
"It was  _your_  idea to go exploring." Harry's head dropped a foot, then another. "Stairs."   
  
"That was before I was balanced dangerously above a body of water that may or may not be the heavily polluted Isis."8  
  
"Thames, Malfoy."  
  
"Whatever. Find the way out or I'll shock you in places that don't bear thinking about."   
  
  
3\. THAUMHOROLOGIC: Magic timepieces, duh.  
4\. DRACO'S WATCH: It looks a little something like [this](http://www.europastar.com/europastar/photos/01_2006/magazine605/cabestan_1.jpg), but with more bells and whistles.  
5\. WITCHCRAFT ACT: Whilst England had Acts concerning the practice of withcraft on the books prior to this, the Act of 1604 was the one that the Witchfinder General took the greatest of dubious pleasures in enforcing.  
6\. SECTION 28: A ridiculous piece of legislature of the late eighties that insisted that government-funded local authorities (councils, schools etc) only present materials that portrayed homosexual lifestyles as "abnormal". Finally removed 2003.  
7\. REFORM BILL: The aforementioned Act which stripped Hereditary Peers of their right to sit in the Lords, consequently, something which Lord Malfoy would rather not dwell upon if at all necessary.  
8\. ISIS: The Oxfordian, and Wizarding, name for the River Thames.  


* * *

  
  
The acoustics in the chamber were eerily perfect, bouncing the vibrant sound of debate down from the Commons with a delay of what Harry calculated was six days.  
  
Draco was just pleased that the river made a soothing sort of rushing noise, because listening to the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Wales plonk on about smoking in public places wasn't his idea of stimulating politics. It was Wales, for fuck's sake. Weren't they devolved already?  
  
Privately he agreed with Blaise and thought that everywhere in England north of Luton Airport should be subject to devolution9.   
  
That kind of opinion wasn't, like his suggestion fuelled by the sixth Singapore Sling (and Draco had restrained himself for two whole years about making  _member_  remarks, so it was doubly excruciating to see it the bloody tabloids), something to say in public.   
  
Fun times, but very much a distant memory when one was stuck miles underneath the Houses of Parliament in a dumping-ground for old furniture with one door and a very turbid river as possible routes out. Magical fucking Westminster, bollocks.  
  
"We could Apparate," Draco suggested, leaning back on a rickety civil-service wooden chair. He shrugged, trying to dispel the cloying feel of stale magic.  
  
Harry, involved in trying each of the twelve doorknobs on the heavy oak door, snorted. "Right. You tried an explosive spell and your wand  _squeaked_." He rattled a handle irritably. "Somehow I don't think spells will do us any--could you maybe get off your arse and give me a hand?"  
  
Draco took a deep breath and wondered if this was how Granger and Weasley had spent their school careers, waiting around for Potter to get over himself and think of something useful. He said as much.  
  
"Oi," said Harry, aiming his wand at Draco, " _Crucio_."  
  
"Bugger off," Draco said. "That gives me a headache. Did you try turning more than one handle at a time?"  
  
*  
  
The door opened into Harry's office.  
  
"Woah," Harry said.  
  
Draco looked at him askance. Then he looked at his watch.   
  
6:31pm.  
  
"Very peculiar," he said. "Where's the scotch?"  
  
  
9\. DEVOLUTION: The United Kingdom has devolved parliamentary power to Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, meaning that for certain levels of governance and financial administration, those regions act as independent bodies whilst still remain subject to and under control of the UK Parliament.  


* * *

  
  
**Rm B29.2**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (COMMONS)  
7:02 pm  
  
"Oi," Harry said again, this time quieter, "you alright?"  
  
Draco considered admitting that he felt like throwing up, but he had a reputation and a lineage to uphold. If Harry could cope with mucking through seven hundred years of distilled power, so could he.  
  
He threw up anyway.  
  


* * *

  
  
**THE ATHENAEUM CLUB**  
PALL MALL  
Thursday March 31st, 10.32 am  
  
  
"Great Hannibal and the elephants," Draco groaned, plucked from sleep by the insistent annoyance that was owl-wings against the window, "al _right_!"  
  
He opened the sash and glared at Harry's owl balefully. "You are lucky this place is terribly old-fashioned, you know." He let her hop in the window and onto the desk. "Anywhere else and the double-glazing would've had you monumentally locked out. What do you want?"  
  
Draco found it amusing that Hedwig had two moods: disapprovingly sniffy, and slutty for anyone who tickled her underneath the muzzle. Today he was getting the petulance rather than the charm offensive. It was always interesting to speculate how much of that was Harry's influence.  
  
She shook her foot impatiently at Draco until he untied the letter, then bounced over to the table and pecked at a salmon vol-au-vent from the evening before.  
  
"Take it, greedy wench," he said. The owl kicked up and headed out the window. "You're getting fat!" Draco yelled. It made his headache feel better.  
  
*  
  
 _Draco,_  
  
Feeling better?   
  
Remembered last night -- roaring Thames and all that -- it's the Boat Race this weekend.   
It's early this year. Anyhow, same old same old at The Depot? I rang Nico to get us a table.   
If I don't hear from you I'll meet you there at eleven.  
  
\- Harry  
  
PS Still on for a wager, I hope. Thought we might up the stakes a bit this year.   
How about you resign if Cambridge win?  
  
  
*  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Rm 407  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Saturday April 2nd, 12:23 pm**  
  
  
"Argh!"  
  
"Oh!"  
  
The door banged shut behind Draco, nearly catching his coat.   
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked Blaise, who appeared comfortably ensconced in the Eames chair, parchment and abacus incongruous next to his laptop, if one wasn't used to that sort of thing. His black robe with the high Chinese collar made him look... witchy.  
  
Blaise held up his hand (and slide-rule) while he tapped in formulas for the Russian Revolution or whatever it was that he was working on this week. "Thesis," he said around the Inca knot-string between his teeth.  
  
"That's my desk," Draco said, "You have one of your own, which, might I remind you, is in  _your_  office—"  
  
"Draco. It's Saturday. It's  _recess_. I can hardly be blamed for imagining you would be anywhere within the M25 1, let alone at work."  
  
"My desk." Draco had spent the previous day in a sulk after Potter's letter, and today he planned to continue functioning in the same snippy frame of mind. Sitting down heavily on the couch, he propped his feet up on the table. Noguchi be damned. "My office." He leaned over to the side table to gauge the level in the decanter. "Hmmpph."  
  
"My, we are tetchy." Blaise didn't even look up, the bastard. "Shall I make you a cup of tea?"  
  
"Please."  
  
"Hemlock?" Blaise's tone was bright. He looked genuinely happy to see him.  
  
Draco glared.  
  
"I was trying to concentrate, if you must know. I have my  _viva seconde_ 2 in a week, and Cecilia's invited all her Andalucian aunts and cousins for the weekend." He closed his eyes briefly. "There's no peace to be had."  
  
"Potter challenged me to a wager."   
  
Blaise frowned and studied something in front of him for a few seconds. "Ah."   
  
"Never mind, I--"  
  
"Properly?"  
  
"I may have signed my name in a fit of temper, yes."  
  
There was a long pause while Blaise pressed his middle finger to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
"Might I ask what rests on this wager?"  
  
"What are your job prospects when you complete your Magisterium?"  
  
Blaise's hand twitched. Draco had seen Blaise lose his temper twice. Thirteen-year-olds were still a little unfocussed with curses, and it had only been the far wall of the common room that bore the brunt of the explosion. At nineteen, there hadn't been much left of the house-elf.  
  
And it was best not to think about the other rumours.  
  
Quickly, he added, "I mean, I'm sure it's not that dire. It wasn't worded correctly. There'll be a loophole. Oxford have the stronger team this year. Um."  
  
Blaise stared in horror, but by then Draco had got to his feet and grabbed Blaise's wand out of his reach.  
  
Safer over by the window, really. Draco tried not to listen to the taptap and click of Blaise's annoyance being visited on the keyboard and waited, wondering if it were too late to take up the offer of hemlock tea. He'd watched a man in a red jacket walk the entire length of Westminster Bridge when Blaise put his hands on his shoulders.  
  
"So," he said, taking back his wand and turning Draco around to face him, "you have, once again, endangered your livelihood and that of your friends because of a hopeless crush--"  
  
"It'll be  _alright_ \--"  
  
"--and you know it, and really, most of us have never minded it, because you're a bit scary when you're obsessed with someth--"  
  
"Yes, yes. Suggestions for loopholes, please?" Draco had heard this all before. Besides, Blaise always became suggestible when he was stressed. Dangerous, but suggestible. Draco thumbed open a couple of buttons on Blaise's robe.  
  
Blaise narrowed his gaze for a second, but there was a smile tugging at his face nonetheless. "Stop that. You're not irresistible." He sighed. "One of these days I'll actually finish lecturing you."  
  
"One of these days you won't be such a tart," Draco murmured, quite enjoying the damask of Blaise's robe slipping between his fingers.  
  
"I'm helping you or I'm fucking you, Draco. Your choice." Blaise paused. "And there would be a right and a wrong option."  
  
"Not both?" Draco let a strand of hair fall over his eyes.  
  
Blaise lifted Draco's hands away gently. "Your mind is elsewhere, my friend."  
  
He had a point.  
  
  
1\. M25: The circular motorway system that circumscribes the Greater London area. Outside are things like trees and parks and quaint villages and very large shopping centres.  
2\. VIVA: The second oral examination (oh, don't be filthy) for one's Magisterium thesis, which is somewhat like a Muggle doctorate. A PhD, however, does not have a practical component requiring the candidate to successfully incapacitate at least one examiner of the thesis with original spellwork.  


 

* * *

 

**THE DEPOT BRASSERIE AND WINE BAR  
MORTLAKE, SW15  
Sunday March 3rd, 11:32 am**  
  
  
At least his watch was working properly now, but Harry's annoying inability to keep time just added to the list of things that irked Draco this morning.  
  
The olive bread was rather lacklustre--granted, it was the busiest day of the year for Nico, and one had to book the year before to be assured of a table, but still. Draco jammed a piece into the balsamic and managed to splash the cuff of his pullover. Which ruined the argyle pattern, a bit.  
  
More irking.  
  
"No, over by the window!" Harry sounded pleased with himself. Draco turned around to what would have been a vision in white if it weren't for the supplementary vision-in-white carrying two squash racquets and smiling superciliously beneath a perfect blonde ponytail.  
  
"Harry." Draco looked pointedly at his watch before turning and finding a smile from somewhere. "Cate."   
  
Harry at least had the good grace to look like he was about to offer an excuse, but Cate tilted her head and said: "Do blame me, Lord Malfoy, I insisted on the best of three. And then there were simply no cabs in Kensington to be had."  
  
"Who came out top, then?" Draco took the racquets and slid them under the table, pointing Harry to the seat opposite his own and pulling out the one with the worst view of the window for Cate.  
  
"I did," said Harry, looking very directly at Draco, "I always t--"  
  
"Could I get you any drinks?" the waitress asked.  
  
Draco hated waitresses.  
  
"Sparkling mineral water, slice of cucumber," said Cate, "and if you could have someone tell me when the Niyazov3 party arrives in the lounge?" She folded her hands together. "Sorry. I won't be staying."  
  
"If you have previous plans, of course you mustn't," Draco said, and felt real affection for his mother's lessons in polite small talk.  
  
"Lime and soda," Harry said, flipping over the menu.   
  
Draco stared at him. "Another Guinness, please."  
  
*  
  
"Ta-ta to you too," Draco said to Cate's retreating form.  
  
"Be nice," Harry said. " _You_  won't play squash."  
  
"That's because I think small rooms with white walls should be reserved for the clinically insane. Now. Order a bloody beer, you great nancy-boy. I want to talk about this bet."  
  
*  
  
"It would be the  _decent_  thing to do."  
  
"Oh, hello." Draco stretched out his hand over the paella dish. "Have you met me? Draco Malfoy. Only up to C in the dictionary."  
  
Harry fiddled with the slip of paper--their wager--underneath his glass. "Invoking an eighteenth century clause to get your peerage upheld for ten years is fucking dodgy."  
  
"I thought it was clever," Draco said, hoping he sounded bored, because they'd never really had this conversation to the end and he felt inexplicably nervous. "Cunning, wily, etcetera. Besides. You said it yourself. Westminster clearly loves me. And it was Boris who  _found_  the legislation--"   
  
Harry scowled. "No surprises there."  
  
"Oh, because  _you've_  never had anyone juggle the rules on your behalf, have you?" This was better. Harry had a curious blind spot about his own behaviour, and Draco was not above exploiting it.  
  
Harry looked out the window.  
  
"Juggle, bend, break, disregard, rewrite--"  
  
A glare, and silence.  
  
"Are you even planning on presenting this Bill?" Draco thought now was as good a time as any to push the issue. "Or are you just winding me up? And what do your colleagues think about it all, anyhow... doesn't it look a bit odd, targeting a relatively harmless majority-voting cross-bencher--"  
  
"Tuesday week," Harry turned back from the window, leaned forward. "I put it on the orders a month ago. Thought I'd give you the opportunity to resign gracefully."  
  
Draco tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his belly and spluttered. "Opportunity!"  
  
Harry stabbed a piece of steak onto his fork. "Well, you'd never do it without prompting, would you? Think of the press, Draco. Journalists outside your door. And what's your comeback--that's right. There's a place in Parliament for those brought up in the spirit of community service?"  
  
"That was Howarth, you tosser."  
  
"What  _is_  your argument, then?"  
  
"I'm a Mal--"  
  
"If you dare say  _I'm a Malfoy_  I'll stab you with this fork."  
  
At least they were both laughing, Draco thought.  
  
"Independent political opinion." Harry opened his mouth and made a noise but Draco continued. "Quiet. I mean it. You might think I'm some kind of ultra-conservative, but I just like to play devil's advocate with you."  
  
"Please, don't try and tell me that secretly you're a trade unionist."  
  
"Have you actually looked at my voting record?"  
  
Harry's "Yes!" was exactly the sort of defensive squawk that meant "No! My constituency work is more important than reading Hansard, even if it means having an informed opinion," but the conversation was interrupted by the head waiter, armed with a loudspeaker and announcing the race was due to start in fifteen minutes.  
  
Draco took advantage of the distraction to whip out the wager from under Harry's beer.  
  
 _Redux_ , he wrote, and signed his name again before Harry could yank the paper back. He was halfway through his own terms--which were fairly detailed-- when Harry noticed what he was doing.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
"Yes," Draco said seriously, finishing the sentence and sliding the piece of paper back in Harry's view, his forefinger pressed above x___________. "Sign, please."  
  
*  
  
Watching Harry's face as he read was awfully satisfying.  
  
*  
  
"Get your wand and come with me," Harry said, pushing his chair back and standing.  
  
Draco felt a vague thrill. "Ooh, are we going outside to settle this like men?"  
  
"You--this--" Harry gesticulated furiously at the paper. "You're cheating. Else you wouldn't--Up. Now." Harry stalked off towards the back of the restaurant.  
  
The family at the next table along eyed their places with keen interest. Draco flicked his sleeve up a bit and threw an evasive glamour over the table, smiling serenely at the group. They looked puzzled and turned back to their carbonara.  
  
No point in losing the best seats in the house just for Potter's tantrum.  
  
*  
  
He caught up with Harry in a hallway through a door marked Staff Only, his outline a bit dim because Harry had cast the same evasive spell around himself.  
  
"Give it here."   
  
Sometimes Draco found that bossiness disturbingly arousing. Right now?  
  
It irked.  
  
There was also the small matter of the wand pointed back at him, and if he'd only been privy to Blaise's temper twice in his life he'd certainly witnessed his fair share of Potter-brand conniptions.  
  
"You won't find anything."  
  
"You think?" Harry tilted his head back and held out his own wand, tip-side in hand.   
  
They both uttered  _Priori_  at the same time, standing back to let the spells echo off the floor. Draco added a time-bracketing modifier and a conjunctive for wandless magic and tried not to look too smug about it.  
  
After a minute, he said, "I take it back, Potter. You do act like a wizard. One who has a fine grasp of housekeeping charms and never remembers his house keys--hmm, perhaps I won't tell anyone about that little curse, you should really--"  
  
Harry sounded grouchy. "Are any of these spells  _not_  hexes?"  
  
Draco shrugged. People irked him. "You're back to last Wednesday, you know." He sped up the priori spell on Harry's wand by skipping out the cleaning charms; it ran twice as fast and quickly came to a stop. Draco's followed likewise. The Ministry had delimited the spell for all but Aurors; it only searched a week.   
  
Peace and Reconciliation, they'd said, after the War.4  
  
The bell went off inside.  
  
"Happy now?" Draco grinned. Blaise was fabulous. And unless Harry had really planned ahead (not likely, given his appalling time management), there was no way that Cambridge would win.  
  
Harry was examining Draco's wand as if he expected it to start sprouting feathers. "Not really," he said, looking more puzzled than unhappy. "I'd ask you to look me in the eye and swear you didn't cheat, but you're a M--"  
  
"Slytherin would be the word you're looking for." Draco plucked his wand from Harry's fingers. "Let's watch the boys pull strokes. Go Blues!"  
  
*  
  
"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Draco yelled as the Oxford crew came in by two lengths.  
  
Harry stared. Draco smirked.  
  
*  
  
"But." Harry flicked his gaze over the crowded room to the blonde ponytail.  
  
"Ahh," Draco said. "In political life, a man's secretary is meant to be his conscience."   
  
"Eh." Harry looked defeated. "Accomplice."  
  
"At least I didn't drag Blaise around a bloody squash court in order to do it."  
  
  
3\. NIYAZOV: Potter's admin keeps some [interesting company](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saparmurat_Niyazov).  
4\. RECONCILIATION: Not quite the same as "Let's Sweep All That Horrid Nonsense Under The Carpet And Pretend We All Didn't Do Horrible Things To One Another Only A Few Months Ago", but the Peace and Reconciliation tribunal in the Ministry had pretty much the same aim.   
  


* * *

  
  
**THE ARAB BOY  
RICHMOND, SW15  
4:09 pm**  
  
  
"Cheating makes the wager null and void," Harry said, a bit dumbly. Draco had suggested they walk to his house rather than try and fight the traffic. Or Apparate with over-the-limit blood-alcohol.  
  
They'd stopped at the first pub and hadn't quite managed to move on.  
  
"I cheated, you cheated. It cancelled out. Oxford won. Soooo... it really should stand." Draco had been trying not to jiggle with glee, but he was a bit pissed.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"I think we should phone Ladbrokes. Or Lloyds. Or the Ministry. Get a professional opinion."5  
  
"Null and void."  
  
"Really." It could wait, but there was absolutely no way that Draco was letting this one slide. "It would be the  _decent_  thing to do."  
  
*  
  
  
5\. LADBROKES: A high-street betting agency that parts Muggles from their money in exchange for the thrill of gambling. Lloyds is an insurance company that do much the same thing but on a larger scale.  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**CENTRAL LOBBY  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
Monday April 4th, 10:04 am**  
  
  
"Are you  _mad_?" Harry hissed, which Draco chalked up to Parseltongue considering the sentence had no sibilants in it.  
  
Draco leaned back on Gladstone's1 plinth and crossed his ankles. The gesture made his robe swish and fall tauntingly open in such a way that even Severus Snape would have awarded a decent amount of house points, once. "Hmm?"  
  
"You're wearing a robe! People are staring! Why don't you just put on a bloody great pointy hat with stars on and have done with it?"  
  
Draco looked around at the other people in the Lobby. They were, in fact, mostly staring, but to Draco it seemed more apparent that the papers ruffling agitatedly in Harry's grasp were the cause.  
  
"Freak draught," he said to the people nearest them, putting a hand on the top of the pile and coughing discreetly. "Get a grip, Potter. You're a liability."  
  
Privately he was quite flattered that Harry was so wound up.  
  
"But you're wearing--"  
  
"Only for you."  
  
There was a long pause while Harry blinked, frowned, and blinked again, understanding. Draco smiled. Harry, bless his ingenuously indiscreet little cotton socks, didn't even bother to hide the slalom ride his eyes took down Draco's body.  
  
When Harry's gaze hit the floor Draco shifted his weight so there would be some variation on the return journey.  
  
"Hello," Draco said after the pause became lengthy, because there was such a thing as being examined  _too_  closely.  
  
"Hmm," Harry said. "Why?"  
  
Draco lifted all but his forefinger off Harry's pile of documents and tapped. "Momentous week, apparently. I thought you might need some reminding of the things that are at stake."  
  
Harry squinted one eye shut and tipped his head to the side. "You think just because you look all--" he waved his hand in the air in a gesture that Draco chose to interpret as ngghh, fuckable, "--all, whatever--that I'll get up in the Commons and say, oops, no, changed my mind?"  
  
"Hope springs eternal, but no. A healthy amount of bitter regret was all I was aiming for."  
  
Harry's eyes  _flashed_ , and the draught whipped up around their ankles. It had taken Draco ten years to properly see Potter as dangerous when his temper was unrestrained; three to wallow ambiguously in how glorious it was, two to develop a sturdy sense of jealousy, and about six minutes to find it unbearably hot.  
  
It all amounted to a very bad habit of saying things that got Harry ...riled.  
  
As it was Draco was too engrossed in the way his spine felt almost liquid to notice that when Harry slid his hand inside Draco's sleeve he twined his fingers around Draco's wand. "This was always the good thing about these robes," Harry murmured, smile glittering, "easy access," and Draco had to concentrate very hard indeed on the Commons Orders sheet jammed under Harry's arm so his knees didn't wobble.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Draco ground out. Harry had very short fingernails; Draco knew this because his finger _tips_  didn't scratch at all.  
  
"Reminding  _you_  what's at stake."   
  
"Hardly," Draco wanted to whine when Harry circled his grip around his wrist, "on par."  
  
Harry just raised his eyebrows, smile still firmly in place. "You don't believe that." His hand slipped down, thumb across Draco's pulse. "Th-thud. Th-thud. Very fast, isn't--"  
  
Draco had just about enough brainpower left to wrench his arm away, because there were the great British political sex scandals and then there was something a bit common about snogging an MP in a draughty thoroughfare. "I'm sure you're terribly busy," he said, irritated at being breathless, "I'll leave you to your petition."  
  
"Like you have a choice," Harry said, smiling sweetly. "Have a nice day."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**Subject: >:-O  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 8 April 2005 10:12  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
My wand, if you would be so kind as to return it right fucking now.  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: >:-O  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 8 April 2005 10:19  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
busy, come get it  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: >:-O  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 4 April 2005 10:41  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
bloody hell there was no need to send zabini down here like the bailiff.   
he didn't look too impressed at being your errand boy though, haha.   
cate wants his phone number, but isn't he married?   
  
  
 **Subject: Re: >:-O  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 4 April 2005 10:45  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
Yes. And doesn't prefer blondes.  
Next time you want to get my attention try the telephone.  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: >:-O  
From: Harry Potter (North Southwark & Bermondsey) <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>  
Date: 4 April 2005 10:47  
To: lord muck <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>**  
  
that blue was good on you.  
  
  
  
 **Subject: Re: Yes. Also doesn't like blondes.  
From: The Office of Lord Malfoy <malfoy.d@hol.gov.uk>  
Date: 4 April 2005 18:45  
To: bleeding heart liberal <hpotter@libdem.gov.uk>**  
  
>>  _that blue was good on you._  
  
Tory, naturellement.  
  
  
1\. GLADSTONE: Four-time Prime Minister of Britain, and Disraeli's political rival during the reign of Victoria. Hobbies included walking the streets of London attempting to rescue fallen women (no, really, not like that) and chopping down trees.  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  
**THE CHOIR  
WESTMINSTER ABBEY  
Tuesday April 5th, 11:21 am**  
  
  
Draco pulled out his notebook and jotted down the last phrases.  _So great an ornament_ , indeed. It was never too early to start thinking about one's epitaph.  
  
His notebook twitched and !!!!!! appeared underneath the Latin.   
  
"Editorial," Draco grouched, and shoved the book back in his pocket. Clearly the charm's algorithm was developing parameters beyond filing and moving into commentary, but then any birthday present from Blaise was bound to have sharp edges.  
  
The click-click of tourist shoes on the tiles didn't abate as Draco slouched in a desperately uncomfortable wooden chair and peered up at the Perpendicular Gothic. It wasn't quite as lovely as Chartres (nor as ticklish with magic; Draco supposed that to be some sort of English reserve vs Continental flamboyance and took holidays in Lyon twice a year) but the Abbey had a certain peace to it that had never and would never exist in the Houses of Parliament while John Prescott was resident2.  
  
"It's a  _church_ ," Pansy had said on her only visit, faint Portuguese inflection from six years in Brazil, and even with the dark glasses Draco could see the squinty-eyed lack of understanding on her face.3  
  
"The grandest expression of Muggle folly, that's what it is," he'd said, "Naturally I do my best thinking here."  
  
*  
  
Today he wasn't so much thinking as asylum-seeking, because Blaise's thesis panic had reached crisis point and Draco's office was a no-go zone. The television had been rendered utterly useless by his so-called secretary's stress levels (more to the point, the result of the killing curse on the Philips flat-screen), so Draco couldn't even amuse himself with the debacle of the Government trying to push through six weeks of vulnerable legislation in a couple of afternoons.  
  
The Lords session didn't start until two, so it was either sulking on the Minister's couch or contemplation in Poets Corner. Draco had already grouched at length to Boris about the unfairness of Potter's ridiculous Bill, to which the Minister had shrugged and reminded Draco that technically, Harry was well within his brief.  
  
I am not thinking about his underwear, Draco had told himself sternly. Because I am not a big girl.  
  
His mobile wriggled excitedly in his pocket. There were prominent multilingual signs up everywhere around the Cathedral with strikeouts through pictures of cameras and mobiles and cigarettes, so Draco ducked behind a screen and Apparated to the courtyard.  
  
"I was just about to take confession," he complained.  
  
"Anglican, Draco. Silly frocks and buggering the choirboys, but no confession." The Zabinis in the old country still did the Orthodox thing, which accounted for Blaise's curious predilection for incense. "There's a Lobby briefing just starting, here, listen:"  
  
The tinny sound of BBC Parliament blared out through Draco's mobile.  
  
 _... to Downing Street for an announcement from the Prime Minister's spokesman, Tom Kelly._  A pause and the clicking of camera-shutters, the rustling of the press-pack.  _"The prime minister has left for Buckingham Palace, which means a general election is under way, and as a civil servant, that means I have to shut up."_  
  
"Ah, finally," Blaise said. "One imagines he'll announce it before Questions today."  
  
Draco grinned. Tony Blair was a pimple on the nation's back, but today his timing was impeccable.  
  
  
  
2\. PRESCOTT: Where does one start? The Deputy Prime Minister likes big cars, conflicts of interest, cheating on his wife, punching people, getting the taxpayers to fork out for his accomodations, and is utterly incomprehensible as a public speaker.   
3\. PANSY: Darling Parks, with her adoring exotic husband and their delightful multilingual children and their charming colonial villa on the Espirito Santo coast. I don't miss her at all.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
**THE LORDS CHAMBER  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
5:02 pm**  
  
  
Draco was rather relieved that the Serious Organised Crime and Police Bill was being carried over, because he had a few things to say about that and a series of interjections from the cross-bench would not make him the most popular wig in the House at this point.  
  
Lord Boston was pressing Renton on the point: "Can the noble Lord the Captain of the Gentlemen-at-Arms say whether his Statement, and in particular the various dates which he has announced to your Lordships this afternoon—especially the date of the State Opening—has any effect on the planned Recess dates, which he helpfully announced last November?"  
  
Draco wondered if he could get another title as fabulous as Lord Renton's added to his own and decided a morning spent furtling about in the archives might prove fruitful in such a regard. The debate itself was only useful insofar as Draco wanted to book a holiday in the Seychelles over the Whitsun Recess and Lord Renton appeared to have the same goal in mind.  
  
Hopefully, not the same hotel.  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  
**THE TERRACE BAR  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
10:31 pm**  
  
  
"Aww," Draco said, not even bothering to hide his completely unsympathetic grin as Harry slid into the seat opposite, "you got  _tabled_." 4  
  
Tugging at the knot of his tie, Harry narrowed his eyes. "You could have least got me a drink."  
  
Draco pushed the triple scotch across the table with his forefinger. "Would you like me to hex Peter Hain5 for you?"  
  
Harry looked out over the river. He tipped a good half of the Ballantines down his throat before turning back with a look that was almost sheepish. "Um."  
  
It was instances like this that always made Draco want to write an anonymous letter to the Daily Prophet, just to remind them what an absolute brat they held up as the paragon of wizarding manhood. A brat with his best suit on today--dark grey, four-button, shirt verging on pink although Harry would no doubt argue that it was red--but a brat nonetheless.  
  
As it was he just snickered into his Campari and drummed his fingers on the front page of the Telegraph. "Don't worry, you're not the only one who got shafted. Chuck and Camilla don't want to compete with El Papa for the spotlight so they changed the nuptials."6  
  
"Really?" Harry leaned over enthusiastically and turned the paper around to read the article.  
  
Draco was torn between being horrified, and plotting to cover the walls of Harry's office with souvenir tea-towels. "I would  _never_  have pegged you for a royalist, Harry. What is it, the pomp and circumstance or the life of privilege that isn't quite deserved?"  
  
Harry threw a salt-and-vinegar crisp at Draco and swallowed down the rest of his scotch. "Shut the fuck up and get me another."  
  
"I love it when you're all pissy."  
  
"The Bill was just tabled, Malfoy. Not dismissed. Don't get too bloody comfortable."  
  
Draco pulled a chair out from under the adjacent table and stretched his legs out, hooking his hands behind his head. "Assuming you're re-elected, of course."  
  
Harry snorted and crossed his arms. "Uh, whatever. I'm still not seeing my next drink."  
  
"Is that an invitation for me to get you very very drunk?"  
  
Harry put his empty glass down carefully and looked around them. The Terrace was thronged with rumpled-looking parliamentarians, buzzing with the news of the election date and the legislation that was in jeopardy as a result. He squinted at a spot behind Draco that turned out to be the approaching figure of one of the bar-staff, and gestured. "Whenever we end up here," he grimaced, "it seems to be inevitable."  
  
"Cheers, then."  
  
"Yeah, cheers."  
  
  
  
  
4\. TABLED: Again, not in the way that Draco wishes, but very nearly just as satisfying. Potter's half-arsed Bill was set aside due to the PM's announcement, and requires resubmission when a new Parliament is convened.   
5\. HAIN: Leader of the House of Commons, consequently, the chap responsible for the above-mentioned tabling.  
6\. WEDDINGS, FUNERALS: In the interests of posterity, we note that Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles delayed their wedding date in deference to the passing of Pope John Paul II.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Rm 407  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Wednesday April 6th, 2:33 pm**  
  
  
"Blaise?"  
  
"Just a moment, I just need to correct this--"  
  
"Do I have an  _appointment_?" Draco looked around Blaise's desk for something resembling a diary or a calendar. "Also, get the fuck out here and do your job."  
  
After a couple of seconds Blaise appeared in the doorway and pointed at the top drawer with a put-upon sigh. "Diary is in there. Still in its wrapper, which I believe would answer your question regarding appointments."  
  
"Well, who is that then?" Draco gestured at the security screen, which showed a dark-haired woman waiting outside in the anterooms. "If I didn't know better I'd think she looked like--"  
  
"I have no idea," Blaise said, striding across the room to the door, "but I'm busy, so I'm going to tell them to--fucking  _fuck_!" He slammed the door shut, pulled his wand from his sleeve and stared at Draco.  
  
"I thought you got rid of your batshit aunt," he said flatly.   
  
Draco looked at the monitor again, his heart thudding furiously. "Huh."  
  
"What do you want?" Blaise said, in a tight voice Draco hadn't heard for years.  
  
Her voice was muffled through the door. "Excuse me, Lord Malfoy, I know I don't have an appointment, but my name is Gina McKee and I write for the Mirror."  
  
"Prove it!" They both shouted.  
  
After a second a letter and two ID cards were pushed under the door. Blaise snatched them up with a tissue and peered intently, muttering  _Evanesco_  variations over the cards.  
  
"It's not her." Draco waved his hand at the door. "Tell her to go bug some other Peer."  
  
Blaise frowned. "How do you know? I  _saw_  her--"  
  
"Because if it were really Bellatrix, by now that door would be charcoal and you would be what the colonials call barbeque." Draco sat down heavily in the chair. This he could do without. "Be my assistant and assist."  
  
Blaise wrenched the door open, but not before scooting his hair back in to place. Incorrigible. "I'm terribly sorry, Ms McKee. Lord Malfoy is not available at this time--"  
  
"Was that him I heard--"  
  
"--so if you'd like to write a letter to the office--"  
  
"--because I'd like to show him some--"  
  
"--then we can arrange a time--"  
  
"--and ask what his reaction to--"  
  
"--you very much, good day."  
  
Blaise came back into the office brushing off his hands like he'd touched something nasty. "That was a little too surreal for me. I'm going to go watch Antiques Roadshow and calm down."  
  
Normally the chance to mock Blaise for a rare indulgence in television-- _daytime_  television-- would be too much to pass up, but Draco was still a bit stunned. "Um," he said, "just don't throw another Unforgiveable at the screen. The taxpayers won't front up for another set twice in one week."  
  


* * *

  
  
**THE PARLIAMENTARY ARCHIVES  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (VICTORIA TOWER)  
Thursday April 7th, 5:08 pm**  
  
  
"Spent all day amending the law so wankers like you don't have a job." Harry's answer to Draco's polite enquiry was rather more pointed than he'd expected. "Are you actually  _working_ , Malfoy?"  
  
"When I said a healthy amount of bitter regret I really didn't expect it to last past Wednesday," Draco said absently, marking his page in the 1859 edition of Burke's Peerage where his search for a third (and amusing) title had come to a grinding halt. Well, there was the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, but that was already taken and Draco didn't fancy becoming the bouncer for the Lord's Chamber in order to get it. He took off his glasses. "What can I do you for?"  
  
Harry frowned. "You don't wear glasses."  
  
"I know," Draco folded the spectacles in his palm where they transfigured back into the pen he'd pilfered from the Tunisian Embassy, "I was trying out the serious intellectual look, but then I should have remembered that it never worked for y--"  
  
"Oi." Harry said. "What. Are. You. Doing? I get suspicious at your rare displays of industriousness."  
  
"Looking for alternative ways to annoy you," Draco said, which was in fact true, if lacking in detail. "When the Baroness Byford started going on about duck-shooting regulations I thought my time might be employed more productively elsewhere."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and hoisted himself up on the table. "I went to see your  _uncle_  today," he said, dawdling his forefinger along the edge of the table in such a provocatively un-Harry fashion that Draco immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  
  
"Yes, and what did the  _Minister_  have to say?" Draco clicked his pen a couple of times and scowled at the tabletop. Clearly this conversation was not heading anywhere enjoyable. Harry never went to see the Minister unless it was to complain or interfere. Usually both.  
  
"He thought you might like to help me behind the scenes with my campaign," Harry said airily, dropping his eyelashes so low that Draco was hard-pressed not to shove him backwards and-- _what_?  
  
"What?"  
  
"Making badges." Harry grinned. "Oh, and posters and flyers and all that sort of--" Harry turned around as one of the archivists turned up the volume on the House television where the Lord Chancellor was reading Her Majesty's Most Gracious Speech, "--stuff."  
  
"Prorogation7," Draco said finally, letting the syllables roll around in his mouth. "Pro-ro-ga-tion. Nice word, that." He turned to Harry and clapped him on the back. "So. How does it feel to be unemployed?"  
  
  
  
7\. PROROGATION: The act of ending a session of Parliament.  


* * *

  
  
**Rm 407  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Friday April 8th, 5:43 pm**  
  
  
Hail.  
  
In  _April_.  
  
"Blaise," Draco turned back from the window and lowered the volume on the Pope's funeral, "are you doing this?"  
  
Blaise looked up from his proofreading. The territorial battle for Draco's desk had been won by a Zabini stealth encroachment strategy. Draco didn't mind; the debris of Blaise's thesis made Draco look busy. "Doing?"   
  
Draco nodded at the weather.  
  
Blaise shook his head. "You flatter me. I think you'll just find it's unusually low air pressure in the stratosphere."  
  
"Smartarse."  
  
"Channel Four's weather presenter." Blaise smirked.  
  
Draco frowned. "What happened to high-flying A-listers for casual fucks?"  
  
"I like to mix it up."  
  
Draco tried hard not to let the picture of Blaise mixing it up with Peter Mandelson invade his consciousness. Again. "Do your homework. And stop having sex with celebrities. It doesn't reflect well."  
  
Blaise coughed, more than really necessary, and lobbed a copy of the Daily Star8 over to the couch. "Page seven."  
  
It only took a few seconds to scan the page and see what Blaise was referring to. "Throw me the--"  
  
"Thought you might say that," Blaise said as Draco caught the telephone.  
  
*  
  
"According to this... tabloid, she was sitting in your lap!"  
  
Harry's smugness wafted down the telephone line. "You sound almost like you might be jealous."   
  
"I'm merely intrigued." Draco sniffed. "She just doesn't seem to be your type." He flicked over to BBC 24, but it was still wall-to-wall Catholicism. "Aw, look, Charlie and Mickey are sitting in the same pew. Fuck me but they look bored."  
  
Snickering. "What  _is_  my type, Draco?"  
  
Bastard. "Bisexuality confuses young people, Potter. You're a public figure. You should be setting an example."  
  
"What's confusing about Sophie Ellis-Bextor?"9  
  
Harry might have had a point, but Draco was old-school and extremely secure in his homosexuality. "Whatever. Is this some sort of election ploy?"  
  
"She's posher than you are, mate, she'll hardly win me any socialist cred."  
  
"If you went on Newsnight, Paxman would annihilate you for your evasiveness."10  
  
"It's a good thing I'm an insignificant Opposition backbencher, isn't it?"  
  
... pause.  
  
"I am hurt that you went to Annabels without me." Draco crossed out Sophie Ellis-Bextor's name in the newspaper and scribbled around it.  
  
"I can, um, plus-one on my next visit."  
  
Draco's pen stabbed through the newspaper. "It is so wrong that  _you_  are the one with the private members-only restaurant invitations."  
  
"You need to hang out with pop stars, they're--"  
  
Draco didn't hear the rest of Harry's sentence, because he was gazing suspiciously at Blaise.  
  
Certain things made sense now.  
  
"Saturday night?"  
  
"Can't," said Harry, "Big piss-up for Tam Dalyell."  
  
"How on earth do you know him?" Everyone knew of Dalyell, but that was because he'd just resigned from 43 years as a Labour MP. Draco couldn't even contemplate 43 minutes as a constituency MP, so he was obliged to have some grudging respect.  
  
"Minerva McGonagall's nephew," Harry said. "Squib. What about lunch?"  
  
"Only if you fancy the box at Aintree11," Draco said. "It's Ladies Day so Blaise insists we go."  
  
Blaise made a face at him.  
  
"Uh, I'll pass. I've sworn off gambling."  
  
"Probably best. I doubt you'd have anything to wear."  
  
"What colour's  _your_  frock then?"  
  
Draco laughed. "Green like your pretty eyes, Harry. Now piss off."  
  
*  
  
  
8\. DAILY STAR: The absolute scummiest, bottom-of-the-barrel-scraping, nadir of tabloid rags.  
9\. SOPHIE: I have to concur with Potter here. She's a posh bit of [totty](http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/profiles/ellisbextorsophie.shtml).  
10\. NEWSNIGHT: Jeremy Paxman and his caustic interrogation style take on the politicos for your viewing pleasure at ten.  
11\. AINTREE LADIES DAY: Top hats and swanky frocks at the Grand National.  
  



	9. A Liberal Democratic Interlude

  
**Wednesday May 4th**  
  
  
"You do realise there's an election tomorrow, Potter?"  
  
Harry shifted back on the couch (lumpy, squishy, bloody awful brown stripes, but it wasn't really the done thing to pad out the constituency office with furniture from Conran) and regarded Draco through the half-empty bottle of Corona. The stupid git was frowning at him from across the room, arms crossed, considerably more creased of shirt than he'd ever been in the House.  
  
Harry'd had a good laugh at the sight of Malfoy up a ladder, hanging up the bright yellow canvas sign and fussing critically until it was straight.  
  
"Yep," Harry said, "and as of now I don't see what else I could be doing. Except drinking. And possibly organising some sort of doner kebab to appear before me."  
  
More frowning. "I bet McNeill and Branch are still out door-knocking, or holding charity suppers in Peckham, or something."  
  
"Or do I feel like a curry? You want a vindaloo?"  
  
Suddenly Draco was right in front of him, and it wasn't the effect of viewing him through the curvature of the beer bottle.  
  
"I did not," he scowled, plucking the bottle from Harry's hand, "spend my entire--sunny, might I remind you--bank holiday weekend making tea and scones--"  
  
"Pfft. I saw the house elf. Don't you even."  
  
"... _tea and scones_  for the great unwashed of South London, suffering through your dreadfully earnest speeches just so you could fuck around at zero hour and drop the bloody quaffle." Draco picked out the piece of lemon, took a great gulp and finished off Harry's beer. "Yuck. Just because it's duty-free doesn't mean you have to drink it."  
  
Harry yawned. Then he snickered, because Draco still had a badge on the knee of his trousers where Harry had pinned it while holding the ladder. "Honestly. Anyone would think it was  _you_ whose future was being determined by the voting public tomorrow."  
  
Draco gave him a thoughtful look, and tore the piece of lemon in two.  
  
*  
  
"What you wearing?" Draco asked later, pushing the half-empty curry container across the table. "I mean, tomorrow. 'Cos, obvs'ly, I can see what you're wearing now. Although I wish I couldn't because I don't like lavender."  
  
Harry surveyed the jalfrezi remains and decided he could be heroic and attempt more. Especially now he didn't have to move from his own, infinitely more comfortable couch.  
  
"Lavender!" he said. "Poof. It's purple."  
  
"It's  _horrible_." Draco hiccupped. "I will choose your victory suit. 'cept, not now. Right now I am slightly pissed."  
  
Harry smiled. Whenever Malfoy got bossy and energetic about something it was always best to ply him with alcohol. Tories and Slytherins were all the same; a couple of glasses of chardonnay and it got them as pliable as a mild imperius.   
  
Draco had stopped bleating on about last-minute canvassing when Harry suggested the Pouilly-Fuisse. Made for a quieter life all around, and anyhow, the final polls made him feel pretty bloody good about tomorrow's prospects.  
  
Besides. He'd be a sorry excuse for a wizard if he couldn't tamper with a ballot box.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Notes from a "press release" owled to BZ by the abovementioned, somewhat later on that evening:  
  
 _The previously-and-hopefully-prospective Honourable Harry J. Potter, and Viscount Northallerton, the Lord Malfoy of Wimbledon (Soho on weeknights), encourage all of you who are entitled to vote in the UK elections tomorrow, to do so. Or they will hunt you down and Crucio you. Mr Potter of course insists that you vote for the Liberal Democrats. Lord Malfoy insists he has no party-political affiliation but would probably vote Green in the Wimbledon electorate, were he entitled to vote. As a Lord he is not, and this irks him considerably._  
  
The reply, sent by return:  
  
 _Blaise Zabini, Magisterium candidate in Political Arithmancy, has conclusively proven that all Muggle forms of democracy are inherently flawed. Especially Westminister parliamentary systems. Not that he cares too much because he's considering moving to Cyprus and planting macadamias._  
  
PS: Draco, don't sulk.  
  
*


	10. Chapter 10

**ROTHERHITHE TOWN HALL**  
 **SE16**  
Friday 6th May, 3:43 AM   
  
  
"See, see, what I don't get, right--"  
  
Harry was what Draco liked to call  _pickled_. Pickled as salamander's bollocks in a pharmacy jar. Drunk and talking utter rubbish, but it was diverting rubbish, and besides, most of the faithful had pissed off home. No doubt they all needed an early night so they could get up and do their Pilates and mulch the compost before strolling to the local organic newsagent for the Guardian's post-election special.  
  
Draco was relatively lucid. He'd  _drunk_  a lot (he'd chosen the wine, after all), but a couple of sobering charms in the gents had taken care of that. It amused him that half of the people at the party were obviously under the impression he was snorting up vast amounts of coke, but he really did have a cold.  
  
(He blamed Harry, of course, what with the atrocious weather of so-called spring and the number of meetings that Harry's blizzard-hardened staff--Ramblers1, all of them--seemed to hold  _al fresco_.)  
  
"--is why  _I_  couldn't have been the peer and  _you_  could've done all the hard work and campaigning and stuff, and listened to people rant on about their council tax and crime on the estates and whether that Marco Pierre bloke should have a restaurant on Butlers Wharf, no, wait, you'd like that last one, um--"  
  
"I  _was_  the last one, Potter, maybe you want to switch to half-pints?"  
  
"HA!" Harry held up his forefinger and went a bit cross-eyed pointing it at Draco. "That is hilarious coming from you, you lightweight. Although." He squinted. "Although you. You are very un-drunk." A frown, that kind that screwed up his whole face. "Which is not right, because it is four in the morning I have just been re-elected the Member for North Bermondsey and Southwark by at  _least_  five thousand--"  
  
"North Southwark and Bermondsey." Draco surreptitiously cut Harry's Heineken with lemonade while he was distracted by a yawning volunteer with the tray of finger-food.   
  
"Whatever, five thousand votes. You should be celebrating. You helped. Extremely weird and scary though it is, you helped." Harry became quite involved in picking out the dill from his salmon-and-dill pastry. "Um."  
  
"Um yourself. You can thank me later," Draco said, leer on reflex.  
  
"Oh, was that your ulterior motive?"  
  
A pause, while Draco considered what Harry had said earlier.  
  
"Wait. Am I to understand your attempts to get me out of the Lords were because you were  _jealous_?"  
  
Harry stopped picking and shoved the whole vol-au-vent in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Hmm. And also you're easy to wind up."  
  
Draco scowled, inasmuch as he could when he wanted to sneeze.  
  
"I mean, and then there's that whole hereditary privilege thing, and that really is wrong. Draco, you should try these pastries, they're bloody nice."  
  
Draco leaned on the back of one of the folding chairs and wondered if he could turn Harry into something small and slimy, because even if this was further wind-up, it really wasn't very fucking funny at all. Harry grinned blearily at him, and mussed over Draco's hair.  
  
"And the wig, you know, you look completely daft in that. That would have been a big no-n--look, isn't that Tony Benn?"2 There were still a few people around the doorway, watching the final tallies on the BBC. The chap who worked part-time doing the accounts for the constituency office did, from a distance, look a little like the ex-Labour MP.  
  
Draco swatted Harry's hand away, irritated. "Tony Benn is  _not_  at your election party," he snapped. "Obviously you need new glasses. And you should probably decide what your politics actually are, considering you just got elected to represent a whole bunch of unsuspecting Muggles who have no idea--"  
  
"--like you actually give a shit--"  
  
"--that you're merely  _practising_  on them, although why I am surprised that's sIipped your mind I have no idea."  
  
For a second Harry had the fixed stare he got just he lost his temper, but either the beer or Draco's outburst had some effect and he chewed at the side of his cheek instead. "Malfoy, I was only joking." He wasn't very convincing.  
  
Draco looked at the hand Harry had put on his wrist, closed his eyes briefly, and sighed. "Congratulations, Harry. Well done. I'm going home."   
  
"Can we, um, forget we had this conversation?" Harry's brow creased up and he still didn't move his hand, but Draco suspected it was more for balance than any valiant attempt to keep Draco from leaving.  
  
"I rather think I'll torment you with it later," Draco said sharply, wincing as another camera flash went off.   
  
*  
  
This time when Draco went into the gents to Apparate (there was no way he was trying to get a cab at four A.M. on the Rotherhithe tunnel approach road, blood alcohol limit be damned) there were two blokes chopping up powder on the sports pages of the South London Press and discussing swing percentages, although whether it was politics they were on about Draco really couldn't tell.  
  
And Anthony Wedgwood Benn was standing at the urinal, humming something that sounded suspiciously like  _Keep The Red Flag Flying_. 3  
  
  
  
1\. RAMBLERS: Insufferable [people](http://www.ramblers.org.uk/) who like to trot briskly about the countryside in Gore-Tex anoraks, no matter the weather.  
2\. TONY BENN: A now retired radical left-wing Labour politician from one of those peculiarly dynastic families. The first Peer (he inherited a Viscountcy) to renounce his title, he did so in order to take up an elected seat in the Commons and spent the next 30-odd years fighting the socialist fight, which one might read about in his seven-volume set of diaries.  
3\. THE RED FLAG: Once the stalwart anthem of the Labour Party, the 21st century has seen the [rousing socialist ditty](http://www.comms.dcu.ie/sheehanh/rf-lyrics.htm) dropped from its annual hearing at the Labour Party Conference, most likely because Labour is now "not that sort of party".  
  
  


* * *

 

**THE CLOISTERS**  
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON, WC1  
Sunday May 8th, 11:59 PM  
  
  
Blaise hadn't seemed particularly perturbed by the fact Cecilia wasn't meeting him after his Magisterium viva, which Draco found odd; then, he'd never really understood the whole concept of Blaise and blessed matrimony in the first place.   
  
Or marriage, in general.  
  
Or why one would spend four years of one's life researching a topic that was profoundly theoretical and (in Draco's opinion) utterly unfathomable to anyone but Blaise and his Magus Praetor. It seemed to keep Blaise happy and apparently there was some talk of a book deal in the future, so who knew?  
  
It had been rather gratifying to see Blaise pacing nervously in the Peers' Library yesterday, biting at his normally-perfect fingernails and muttering about the Great Leap Forward and the Long March and occasionally spinning on his heels and snapping something incomprehensible in Mandarin (Bai hua qi fang! bai jia zheng ming!) at Draco4. They'd been officially meant to vacate their offices during prorogation, but the public spaces were still open, and all Draco felt up to was reading the Straits Times and National Geographic anyhow.  
  
And now today Blaise had to present his thesis (all four volumes of it, what a  _swot_ ) and subject himself to twelve hours of questions and demonstrative spell-casting and, in Blaise's case, show some really nifty Powerpoint slides. All for--  
  
"You may now call me Professor," said a smug voice at his ear.  
  
*  
  
"You don't think you ought to take off the robe?"  
  
They were having some kind of Icelandic whiskey at Oblivi8, the swanky minimalist bar that had opened in one of the old warehouses behind Flourish & Blotts. Draco was rather fond of it; it combined the best aesthetics of Muggle design with the rather more exciting liquid refreshments that the wizarding community had to offer. Not that he got to visit very often; the Ministry was strict about the rules and he was damned if he having an official notice all for the sake of a Zombie Punch.  
  
It was, however, quite warm in the crowded space.  
  
"Gown," said Blaise. "Actual proper academic gown, with actual proper sigillary, which I am now actually properly entitled to wear. Also, not wearing anything underneath."  
  
Draco blinked, because Blaise was not the brazen sort and he was very  _close_ , the kind of eyelash-counting close that made it possible for Draco to gauge just how black and huge Blaise's pupils were and admire things like the flush on his cheekbones and the definitive proof that he indeed was naked under the black pleats.  
  
"Really." Okay, so it wasn't a good idea, but he'd known Blaise forever and it wasn't like he hadn't before and honestly,  _Professor_? It was stupidly hot.  
  
"Really," said Blaise, slow and know-it-all. "I think  _you_  ought to be taking it off."  
  
  
  
4\. Translates as: "Let a hundred flowers bloom, a hundred schools of thought contend." Draco has still not figured this out.  
  


* * *

  
  
**THE ATHENAEUM CLUB**  
PALL MALL  
Monday May 9th, 11.30 AM  
  
  
"Just why did you get the  _Mirror_?" Draco knocked back his macchiato and idly considered eggs benedict. Breakfasts at the club were legendary for their portion size, and he was starving.  
  
Blaise was having fruit salad and some green drink that looked like grass clippings, which Draco thought was gay in the wrong way.  
  
"John Pilger was the quintanus on my thesis apocleti."  
  
Draco blanked. Blaise was speaking gibberish5.  
  
Blaise sighed. "Complete barking radical, but he's been everywhere and knows everything."  
  
The raggy, hollow feeling that had prickled at Draco for days threatened to settle in again, so he looked around for a waiter.   
  
"--speaking of knowing everything, look at this." Blaise pulled out a page and folded it, passing it across the table with raised eyebrows. "That's the woman who came to your office."  
  
And it was: a small picture of Gina McKee amongst the other journalists who had covered London constituency functions, and a small article with a picture of Harry with his hand on Draco's arm. Draco hadn't realised Harry had been standing that close, or that he'd been tilting his head in a way that really, really didn't communicate the snippy conversation they'd been having; rather, precisely the opposite.  
  
  
  


>   
> **IT'S TOFF BEING LIBERAL**
> 
> Re-elected Member for North Southwark and Bermondsey, Harry Potter celebrated election night at the Rotherhithe Town Hall with party supporters, campaign staff, and Lord Malfoy, the youngest-ever member of the "other place". The Viscount Northallerton, who was awarded his seat on an 18th century technicality even after Labour's sweeping reforms of the House of Lords, has been spotted at other social events with Mr Potter (29), but until now had shown no inclination of sharing his colleague's politics. 
> 
> Constituency staff present on election night confirmed that Lord Malfoy (29) had assisted in some aspects of Mr Potter's campaign in the weeks leading up to the election but would not elaborate further. Whilst technically a cross-bench peer with no official party affiliation, Lord Malfoy comes from a heavily Conservative background and has made remarks in the House denouncing various aspects of Liberal Democrat and Labour policy.
> 
> Until Parliament was prorogated for the early election, Mr Potter had a Private Members Bill before the session proposing an amendment to the 1999 Lords Reform Bill, that would, if successful, force his colleague to renounce his seat and stand for consideration as a Peer Appointment. The dissolution cancelled consideration of the tabled Bill, and it is not known if Mr Potter plans to reintroduce it when Parliament resumes in mid-May.
> 
> Neither party could be reached to comment on the nature of their association.

  
  
  
  
He handed the page back to Blaise and stared at the split yolk of his egg. "Fuck."  
  
"If it's any consolation, he looks terribly short in that picture." Blaise smoothed out the creases in the newspaper. "Although there's no denying the..." he tapped his fork on the table, searching for a word, " _cosiness_."  
  
"Fuck," Draco said again.  
  
  
  
5\. Draco never listens, and his Greek is even more appalling than his Latin. John Pilger, political investigative journalist, was the fifth examiner on my thesis committee.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**OFFICE OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (UNPLOTTABLE)  
Tuesday May 9th, 3:31PM  
  
  
"Half of me," Boris said, balancing his rather compensatory-looking wand on his forefinger and making a face at Draco, "would like to test out Filius Flitwick's assertion that I was the single most inventive hex-creator ever to come out of Hufflepuff--quiet, boy, don't think I don't know how close you were to being one of Helga's--"  
  
Draco folded his arms and slid lower in the seat.  
  
"--and half of me doesn't give a flying fuck if it's true or not, because Spectator sales would go through the roof if you gave me an exclusive."  
  
"I thought you would be pleased we were getting along." Draco went for diversionary, because the thought of relating something salacious about him and Harry for Boris's little periodical just made him feel vaguely tetchy.  
  
Boris sighed. "Not. In front. Of journalists. What part of low profile is difficult for you to understand?"   
  
Draco ignored him and continued picking at the armchair. " _Were_  being the operative word, it seems. Haven't talked to him for days, stupid git."  
  
"That would be the tabloid hounds attempting to get some sort of comment from him. Besides, Potter is quite demonstrably  _not_  stupid if he's not being seen with you at the moment. Do you realise how many political careers in this country have been derailed by sex scandals?"  
  
"But there's no s--"  
  
"Doesn't matter. The Ministry basically thinks it is, I had Shacklebolt in the fire all morning telling me to read you both the riot act--you especially, for being so idiotically chummy with Harry during the campaign. And I'm sure Kennedy's going to have something to say to Harry about his choice of... friends. It's not exactly the kind of notice and attention we had envisioned here."  
  
Draco rubbed at his forehead and decided any attempts at explanation were just going to come out ridiculously half-assed and heavily doth-protest-too-much.  
  
"Fine," he said. "Please tell me Potter also gets this charming instructional session."  
  
Boris waved his hand dismissively. "He already has, of course. Do try and stay out of trouble, Draco."  
  


* * *

 

**THE PEERS CORRIDOR**  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
4:00 PM  
  
  
 _He already has of course_ , Draco muttered under his breath. It wasn't until he'd left the Minister's office and stalked down the entire length of St Stephen's that he grasped the implication behind Boris's remark.   
  
We want you both to succeed, the official line had been. For the sake of improved wizarding politics. For better Muggle-wizarding relations at official levels. You're both important.   
  
Ha.  
  
"Rules," Draco said emphatically to the frescoed form of King Charles I attempting to bully Speaker Lenthall6. "Put you in your place, didn't they?"  
  
"Lord Malfoy?" A woman's voice behind him, amused. Draco turned around to the smiling face of the Baroness Boothroyd7.  
  
"Um," Draco said, every single bit of poise he'd had hammered into him completely abandoning him for the moment, because there were some people who  _deserved_  their peerage, and she was one of them. Actually, Draco thought she should be Queen, but apparently things didn't work that way. "Yes?"  
  
"I can wait until you've finished telling off King Charles, if you like." The Baroness folded her lips together, but her eyes were bright. "It's my favourite painting in here, too."  
  
"Um," said Draco. "I'm done for now, ma'am." Manners came rushing back to him. "How do you do?"  
  
The Baroness shook his hand and gestured to a bench. "Sorry to disturb you when we're out of session," she started, but Draco interrupted.  
  
"Is this about Potter?" he blurted.  
  
She frowned. "Don't know who you're talking about. No, I wanted to speak with you because I am convening a procedural group you might be interested in."  
  
"Me?" Draco peered as close as he could to the Baroness' cardigan sleeve, because he was getting tongue-tied and intimidated by a person who looked like someone's cuddly grandmother, and a wand-shaped bump under the lilac wool would make him feel a little less like an idiot.  
  
"I would have sent you a memo in-session," she said, kindly ignoring Draco's inability to string a sentence together, "but I recognised you standing here after Lord Campbell pointed you out to me during the Terrorism Bill debate."  
  
"Select Committee," Draco said, events coalescing into sense. He cleared his throat. "Campbell's an exceptional nitpicker. I have the utmost admiration for that sort of ability."  
  
"Well done!" The Baroness clapped her hands together. "That's exactly what this group is about. Parliamentary procedure. Nitpicking. Alloway said you might have an interest, especially with all this business with ID cards coming up upon us."  
  
"I'm." Draco blinked, grinned. "Terribly flattered."  
  
"Well," she fixed him with the sort of assessing stare that had quelled unruly MPs for eight years, "I must say I didn't approve of your admittance, but I think everyone needs the chance to prove themselves." She stood. Definitely no wand. Draco didn't know if that made him feel better or not.   
  
"I'll be in touch," the Baroness said, and strode off towards the Lobby.  
  
Draco glanced around to check that the security guard was back down the other end of the corridor, snuck his wand out and tapped it on the fresco.  
  
Speaker Lenthall hoisted himself up from his deferent position in front of Charles and doffed his hat outwards. The monarch looked on in puzzlement. Draco nodded back, and he was certain he saw Lenthall wink.  
  
*  
  
6\. LENTHALL: Speaker of the House of Commons during Charles I's Long Parliament. The Monarch is not supposed to enter the Commons Chamber, so when Charles did so in pursuit of some rabble-rousing MPs, Lenthall grew a pair and famously said: "May it please your Majesty, I have neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak in this place but as the House is pleased to direct me, whose servant I am here."  
7\. BOOTHROYD: Betty Boothroyd, an elected Life Peer, was the first female Speaker in the Commons. She ruled the House with a twinkle and a gravelly "Right, time's up". Draco buys her shortbread and Gordons and probably wants to be adopted.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**STATE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Tuesday 17th May, 3:24 pm**  
  
  
Maybe the Air Force, Draco mused, peering at the Chief of the Air Staff 1 up in the gallery.  
  
He really didn't fancy the law (besides, that would just mean another wig); the clergy was right out; and everyone else who had some kind of archaic frou-frou embellishment to their robe looked plain ridiculous.  
  
Royal blue was very smart, Draco decided. How hard could it be to conjure a stint at Cranwell2 into his Muggle past? He could certainly fake a conversation about aerodynamics or warfare if needed, and besides, hadn't they let Prince Andrew into the Navy?   
  
Draco twitched his robes back on his shoulders, tried to be happy with his charcoal Oswald Boateng3, and sighed. After the first few, the State Opening of Parliament wasn't so much a glorious display of English tradition as something that reminded Draco of waiting around while his mother presided over garden parties. Except Narcissa Malfoy would never have worn the entire family fortune in jewels on her head disguised as a lumpy purple cushion, like Her Majesty.  
  
True, the old biddy was getting on, but there really was no accounting for what monstrosities of fashion an hereditary monarchy could conceive of--  
  
\--Oooh, the rabble approacheth.  
  
Black Rod4 and the new Chancellor precessed into the Lords in suitably stately fashion, followed by Blair and Howard (there was a Crossbenchers pool on how long  _he_  was going to last after the Conservative loss; Draco privately thought the term "falling on one's sword" had never been so appropriate and had fifty pounds on six weeks)5, Kennedy, Brown, and then the pinkish blur of Senior Members who Draco only recognised if they'd said something controversial.  
  
So none, then.  
  
There was a polite amount of shuffling and shoving for seats but not much more than a cheerful hum. "There was a fight one year," said the Lord Harris of High Cross to Draco's left, nodding at the MP's behind the bar, "ought to happen again. Liven things up, what?"6  
  
"Prescott's down there," Draco said hopefully.  
  
No sign of Potter, though, even though Draco was certain Kennedy would've sent a rousing yellow memo around insisting all the Liberal Democrats scurry to the front of the herd and get their presence on the BBC Parliament coverage. Smart man for his absence, Draco had to admit. Potter was probably slouching on a bench in Westminster Hall with a transfigured gin and tonic, pretending to be serious about the Queen's Speech on the telecast.  
  
 _"... will continue to pursue economic policies which entrench stability and promote long-term growth and prosperity. To this end, my Government will continue to secure low inflation and sound public finances--"_  
  
Draco closed his eyes in dismay. Two sentences in, and that was how it was going to be. Economics and stability. They were in for four years of utter boredom and creeping disappointment by the sounds of the manifesto. The Queen sounded bored herself as she read off the centrist rhetoric like the instructions to a kitset Floo point, albeit in a clipped set of vowels that even a Malfoy would strive to tone down.   
  
 _"... will further reform the education system--"_  
  
Into  _oblivion_ , thought Draco.  
  
 _".. committed to creating safe and secure communities, and fostering a culture of respect--"_  
  
"I think you'll find it liberating," Blaise had said, summoning books from bookcases Draco hadn't even known his office  _had_ , packing them neatly into a crate. "You're probably quite a radical underneath all that in-bred ennui. My sabbatical might release your inner activist."  
  
"Nonsense," Draco had snapped. "I'll just have to make my own tea. Traitor."  
  
 _"... legislation will be taken forward to introduce an identity cards scheme--"_  
  
Draco hated how Blaise was eventually always right.  
  
*  
  
1\. AIR CHIEF: Or in full, Air Chief Marshal Sir Jock Stirrup. You cannot make these names up.  
2\. CRANWELL: The Air Force College.  
3\. OZWALD BOATENG: [12a Saville Row](http://www.ozwaldboateng.co.uk/main.html). Ask for Rupert.  
4\. BLACK ROD: The official usher of the House of Lords. Carries a big stick and bangs on doors with it.  
5\. HOWARD: Draco lost out in the pool, as Howard hung on by his fingernail for another six months, eventually hoisted out by the dynamic and fresh new Tory pin-up David Cameron, who has since proceeded to appear on television non-stop, opining on everything.  
6\. FIGHT: The Commons MPs are encouraged to act rowdy in the name of tradition. In 1901 it went so far as to have the newspapers comment on fisticuffs in the unruly mob.  
  
  


* * *

  
  


**LONDON EYE  
WATERLOO  
Monday 6th June, 10:02 am**  
  
  
"What  _are_  you wearing?"  
  
"Hallo and nice to see you too," said Draco under his breath. "I thought this was supposed to be some clandestine meeting free from Ministry lackeys and Muggle journalists."  
  
"What, no--" Harry's forehead creased up. "You're in disguise."  
  
Draco considering transfiguring the tracksuit back into shirt and trousers, but there were eighteen other people in their capsule and he was actually quite comfortable. He settled for folding up the baseball cap in his palm until it reverted to a handkerchief.   
  
"Your note was ten sorts of cryptic and said not only  _urgent_  but  _come alone_ ," Draco frowned, "and exploited the exclamation mark, but you have a speechwriter now so I imagine grammar is one of life's little annoyances that--"  
  
"Just wanted to make sure you'd turn up." Harry had this smile that seemed to blank out all other possibilities except clichés, like 'it filled the room' or 'beaming', and Draco hated it. People with enough historical angst to fill a Gringott's vault shouldn't be capable of being genuinely sunny.  
  
Draco also wasn't quite prepared to deal with the implications of that smile, so he glared out over the rising view of the Thames. "There's this amazing invention called an answering service, you know. One can leave a recorded message of one's voice, and communicate one's wishes without ambiguity."  
  
Harry turned to lean on the rail next to him. "You don't listen to your voicemail, Draco. You use magic to turn on your  _telly_. Besides, I think Hedwig missed you."  
  
"Hedwig."  
  
"The grouchier you are the more pompous your vocabulary, did you know that?"  
  
"Fuck off," Draco smiled.  
  
After a moment, Harry blinked. "You got some sun," he said, which Draco thought was really just an excuse for some high-level scrutiny of the Potterish sort--which was to say rare, intense, and resembling Theodore in profoundly unsettling and entirely unfair ways. It was a vast comfort to Draco that there was nothing about him that would ever remind Harry of Ron.  
  
"No freckles, though," Harry grinned, and Draco stared and thought about the fine line between keeping someone out of your mind and getting into theirs, and possibly it was not nearly close enough to lunchtime and the large glass of wine that had Draco's name on it.  
  
Harry steered them aside for a couple of pensioners to move to the rail, his hand brushing down Draco's back, and Draco thought  _maybe the whole bottle_.  
  
"Went to the Seychelles," Draco said, counting bridges and wondering if Harry's building was visible from here. He glanced at Harry, who looked to be doing the same thing from the way he was squinting.  
  
"There," Harry's finger jabbed the glass, and he moved aside for Draco to shift into his line of sight. The warehouses along the back of Butler's Wharf all looked the same from the air, but there was the white block of the Design Museum, and--  
  
"Didn't those islands get hit by the tsunami?"   
  
"Playgrounds of the filthy rich seem to have curiously short rebuilding times," Draco shrugged. "I must say I didn't notice any difference--no, wait, the bar staff bringing my cocktails on the beach seemed a little subdued."  
  
Harry snickered. "Oh come on, how much did you donate to the Red Cross?"  
  
"I don't actually  _have_  a heart of gold, despite your wild fantasies." Their pod was reaching the top of its arc now, and Draco moved further around the capsule to the south. "Or not, because now I know you'd rather be rowing down Putney7 than mucking in at your soup-kitchen--"  
  
"I said I was sorry, Draco." Harry's voice was tight.  
  
Draco grinned. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to hear it again."  
  
"Wanker."  
  
"Penitent's good on you," Draco murmured when Harry crowded closer. "I don't get to see it nearly enough."  
  
Harry said nothing, but raised his eyebrows in a vaguely conspiratorial way that caused all sorts of pleasant images to flash through Draco's mind, the least of which was the way his mouth positively pouted when Harry said sorry.   
  
*  
  
"You cannot see all the way to Wimbledon," Harry scoffed.  
  
Draco took off his sunglasses and handed them to Harry. "It's amazing what kind of military technology gets filtered down to the masses these days." By military he meant Auror, and by filtered down he meant requisitioned for personal use by his cousin, but Harry would get the general drift.  
  
"Woah," Harry said, leaning forward on the railing. Draco considered the rooftops of the Houses of Parliament and traced an imaginary path from Victoria Tower to St Stephens. It was like the opposite of that odd time-travelling phone-box program on the BBC; it seemed much larger on the  _outside_.  
  
"Your cherry trees are blossoming," Harry said quite sincerely, and Draco burst out laughing.  
  
*  
  
"Why are we here, by the way?" The pod was descending in to the docking area; Harry was still marveling at the far-field specs, and Draco was sitting on the bench in the middle of the capsule, feeling slightly wobbly.  
  
Flying aside, he did have an uneasy relationship with heights.  
  
"I'd never been," Harry said, tossing the glasses to Draco and pulling off his own to rub at his eyes. "One of those things where you see it every day and don't bother, because you know it's going to always be there."  
  
Draco stomach did a sort of slow somersault.  
  
"And then there was all the fuss about it losing the lease and being shut down, and we all got emails saying the party wanted to support London's Olympic bid and how important landmarks were crucial... so. Yeah." Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Plus it gave me a guaranteed twenty-five minutes of your time without you being able to stalk off in a snit."  
  
"If I turned up."  
  
"Which you did."  
  
"Successful, then."  
  
"I had  _fun_." The capsule stopped and the doors opened. Harry frowned at Draco. "You look sort of green."  
  
"Urgh. Nice view, could do without the revolving vertigo." They exited the pod, Draco stepping carefully out behind Harry. "It's disturbing how often I feel nauseous in your company, you know."   
  
Harry turned, and  _actually_  fluttered his eyelashes at him.  
  
Draco scowled, because there was no way Harry was getting away with that. "Stop that. Next time we're going... good lord, do you even have any phobias?"  
  
"Next time, huh--"  
  
"Quiet. Where are we having lunch?"  
  
*  
  
  
7\. PUTNEY: Potter appears to have taken up the gentleman's sport of rowing as some sort of substitute for the dubious thrills of Quidditch. Given Draco's weakness for well-cut forearms this might explain a lot.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
**CENTRAL LOBBY  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT  
Tuesday 21st June, 4:52 pm**  
  
  
Harry--harassed-looking and straightening his tie--didn't even notice Draco as he strode through the door and over to the Clerk's Bench. Draco watched Harry hand over the green card, looking at it like it was written in Urdu and about to combust. "Someone's waiting for me, apparently?"  
  
"The gentleman in blue by Gladstone, sir."  
  
Draco flipped the stub of the summons card over in his fingers and tried his best to look like a constituent.  
  
"You couldn't just..." Harry waved his hands around, "you know,  _wait_? Until the debates ended?"  
  
"It's amazing what archaic little practices this place still has," Draco shook his head. "But it's reassuring, isn't it? One's representative really is at the beck and call of the populace."*  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are not my populace."  
  
"Am now. I bought one of those new developments behind the Tate. You are now officially my--"  
  
"Please do not say mem--"  
  
"--Member."  
  
Harry sighed. "What do you want?"  
  
"As your constituent I'd like to know how you're planning to respond to the government's proposals for national identification cards." Draco patted his jacket pocket for the notes he'd written during Thursday's Procedurals sub-committee meeting. Baroness Boothroyd kept nodding approvingly at him every time he jotted down something--which was gratifying, but he hadn't had his Zabini-special notebook, and consequently not only could he not decipher his own handwriting, but there was a lot to be said for that opinionated indexing charm.   
  
"Right. And we couldn't discuss this in the bar?"  
  
"I have a whole set of possible tactics to thwart this bill," Draco said brightly. "I wanted to give you the heads-up at the starting post."  
  
Harry backed away a step. "Draco. You're using sporting metaphors and acting like you give a shit. Should I be concerned?"  
  
"Don't be flip, Potter," Draco snapped, and tucked the list into Harry's breast pocket. "Look through that during the adjournment debate and I'll fill you in on the finer points. Once you grasp the basics."  
  
"We do  _actually_  have a party-level strategy to vote against and amend this legislation, you know." Harry looked all sorts of affronted, which made Draco feel quite nostalgic.  
  
Draco snickered. "Yes, I've read the press releases." He tapped Harry's pocket. "Hence the alternatives."  
  


* * *

  
  
**Rm 407  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (LORDS)  
Thursday 23rd June, 11:24pm**  
  
  
"The Ministry seems to think that the general mood is swinging back to separatist," Harry said, jamming his hands in his pockets. "From how the whole ID card debacle is being reported, Bob Average Wizard reckons he'll have to have his hand stamped with a big red sign if he so much as looks at the Muggle world." He sighed, and there was a soft thunk when he leaned his forehead against the window.  
  
"I think you're being naive if you ever thought the mood  _wasn't_  separatist," Draco said, and double-checked that the Porta-Hearth was actually off. He had strong suspicions it was just a disposable barbeque from Sainsburys with a strong Farseeing Charm, but until someone got a decent webcam conferencing system set up in Shacklebolt's office it was the best he and Harry could do.  
  
He crunched his apple. "It's just that it became politically incorrect to be pro-mage after the war, and--"  
  
"Anti-Muggle," Harry grouched, but that was an old discussion.  
  
"--and now I think we're seeing people feel they can voice their discomfort with the Ministry's Muggle-pandering agenda." Draco calculated the angle the apple core would need to hit Harry's head, because the bin was too far from the couch. "It's just sad that they're regurgitating all the barmy nonsense in the Prophet as well. Tell you what, instituting a journalistic code of conduct'll be the first thing I do when I'm Minister."  
  
There was a long pause in between Harry catching the apple--Draco was really going to have to work on his aim--and him turning around. "I think that's the first time you've said that outright," Harry grinned, and it was the kind of grin from long ago, when catching something first actually mattered.  
  
"The wizarding press is in a truly  _appalling_  state."  
  
Harry perched on the arm of the couch, his arms folded, looking down critically at Draco. Draco stretched out until his toes were just about touching Harry's thigh, and Harry looked sternly at those, too. "Here I was thinking you were the only Slytherin without an ounce of ambition."  
  
"Don't act like you're surprised, Harry," Draco said, as coolly as was possibly under the circumstances. "Besides, you'd end up voting with the whips and forgetting why you're here if you didn't have the competition."  
  
"Oh, it's  _altruism_. I beg your pardon."  
  
"Hmm." Draco caught his tongue between his teeth. "And then education reform."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"All magical schools need to be relocated somewhere on the south coast. None of this wintry wilds of Scotland nonsense," Draco mused. "Maybe even the Isle of Wight."  
  
Harry shoved Draco's feet over to make room on the couch. "So you're going for the popular vote, then."  
  
"I'm thinking what they're thinking, to improve upon an election slogan." Draco closed his eyes and didn't move, because Harry was right there, a gesture away, and he could feel how warm he was.  
  
Silence for a while.  
  
"So. You had to have your wand registered?" There was a different tone to Harry's voice.  
  
Draco pulled it out of his sleeve and handed it to Harry. "There. At the base. There's a little notch where the tracker was fixed." He opened an eye to look at Harry. "You ever see the monitoring room at the Ministry before Artefacts took it over? Dozens of little blips on a map. Quite ingenious, really."  
  
Harry opened his mouth like he was about to say something and shut it again. Balanced the wand on Draco's knees and let his fingers rest there for a moment.  
  
Draco closed his eyes again. "And there's all sorts of nonsense you can encode on a computer chip."  
  
"So now you want to save the Muggles from their surveillance nightmare?"  
  
"Pragmatism would suggest it as a wise course of action, certainly." Draco rubbed his nose. "I'll leave the heroic details to you, though."  
  
"Cheers."  
  
"Pleasure."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**OFFICE OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC  
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT (UNPLOTTABLE)  
Monday 27th, 12:19 pm**  
  
  
"I'll pass."  
  
"'fraid not."  
  
Boris's whole  _forehead_  twitched, which made Draco vaguely uneasy.  
  
Harry screwed his face up like there was a small part of him that wanted to take the tickets and run. "Look, Minister, I know you're all up to your eyebrows in this because, lets face it, no-one wants to turn down a photo-op with Bono, but I can't in all good conscience do it."  
  
There was definitely no Lib Dem party line on this one, so Draco had to admit the possibility that Harry had reached certain conclusions on his own. Which was admirable. Draco wondered who'd been doing his research for him.  
  
The Minister sat back and frowned. "Do you two know how much these bloody things go for on e-Bay? More to the point, don't you think that two of the youngest politicians in Westminster ought to be out there raising money for Africa and singing along to Coldplay?"  
  
Draco shuddered.  
  
"Surely you two like Madonna?"  
  
Harry winced.  
  
"Robbie Williams?"  
  
Draco carefully schooled his face to nonchalance and stepped on Harry's foot.  
  
"The, um, line-up isn't the issue," Harry choked out. "This whole concert is a farce. It's all carefully managed feel-good PR for Blair, and Geldof's a bloody idiot not to realise he's having the mickey taken out of him." Harry looked at Draco, who nodded in complete agreement. Anyone who thought holy matrimony with Paula Yates was a good idea really was a few salmon vol-au-vents short of a picnic.  
  
"There's no debt relief for these countries," Harry went on, and Boris was blinking in something quite close to astonishment, "they're all having their aid taken away as a trade-off!"  
  
Draco lent forward over Boris's desk and tilted his head back at Harry. "I think this is what your columnists call the passionate fires of liberal indignation," he said softly. "You should be proud. Or frightened. Possibly both."   
  
He winked at Harry, and there was that furtive little smile hovering behind the left-wing rage, if you knew where to look.  
  
"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry said, but Draco liked to think it was with fondness.  
  
"Draco," said Boris, with the kind of tired resignation of a man who has just realised what uphill battles his future holds, "I'm going to assume your particular brand of neo-conservatism is against any and all foreign aid and thus accounts for your refusal to trot along to a pop concert and show your face for the press."  
  
Harry snorted. "Pretty sure Draco thinks the same thing--"  
  
Draco glanced up at the Division screen where there was a summons for both Houses. "Actually no, Harry, Boris is right," he said, trying not to smirk. "It really is all about the line-up."  
  
Well, one had to keep up appearances.  
  
*  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artwork originally featured with this story.

 

Draco & Harry in the House of Commons, drawn by the amazing [seviet](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Marta_\(seviet\)) and gifted by sparcck. 

 


End file.
